


All Them Years

by CrimsonFandomTrash



Series: Hawyee (RDRII Stuff) [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Early Van der Linde Gang, Existentialism, Explicit Language, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Morality, No Smut, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, this story is gonna be really long, veeery slight VanderMatthews if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2020-11-26 04:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 39
Words: 166,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonFandomTrash/pseuds/CrimsonFandomTrash
Summary: Arthur Morgan is fourteen years old when his father is shot dead in front of him in their small cabin somewhere in the woods of northern Maryland.With no one else to turn to, he ventures into the wilderness by himself with only a few belongings, the clothes on his back, and very limited knowledge of how to survive.And then, he's taken in by a pair of charitable bandits with silver tongues, sharp wits, and big dreams of taking down civilized society to bring America back to a purer state.Along the way, they find more wayward souls, building up a strong group that's the closest thing to family most of them will ever have.Has Arthur found his place, or will his second family crumble just like his first did?(A kinda canon-compliant interpretation of The Van der Linde gang, mostly from Arthur's POV, from 1878-1899.)WARNING. As is the nature of most really long fics like this, there's a bunch of squicky stuff going forward. Mostly violence, a couple of mentions of some darker stuff, but probably never anything too overly graphic. TL,DR; shit gets real sometimes.Updates are a bit slow sometimes, due to life sucking





	1. A Family of Outlaws

**Author's Note:**

> Follows Arthur Morgan from age fourteen to thirty-six. Mostly canon and historically compliant, as close as I could get to it, at least. This is a passion project of mine, so kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!  
This story, along with all the artwork that goes with it, is dedicated to my best friend. She's been at my side for four years now through thick and thin, and I wouldn't still be here trapped in this mortal coil if it weren't for her.  
I drew this: https://www.instagram.com/p/B3DGRh2lxUl/?igshid=t3nw8o794sll for this chapter. Please take a look at it, it took me about three or four hours to draw. 
> 
> With all that said, please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking his short time on this cruel Earth to be nearly over, Arthur is saved by two masked strangers.

_ I'm going to die. _

That's all Arthur could think as he shivered in front of a not-quite fire. In fact, it wasn't a fire at all. It barely gave off any heat. He hadn't been able to get a proper fire going whatsoever since being thrown out here to fend for himself. Never learned how.

His father had died a little under a month ago. Arthur can still vividly remember the sight of his father's brains spraying onto the wall behind him as his body collapsed to the floor and dark red blood pooled around him. The man who'd killed him didn't even spare Arthur a glance; he holstered his gun, and walked out of their decrepit home, with only a sharp grunt.

Arthur had stayed in his room, trying to gather his thoughts and ignore the fact that the only parent he'd had left in the world was now lying on their floor with a hole in his head. As much as Arthur had despised his father, it had still shaken him badly to see him killed so grotesquely. More than that, though, he knew he was alone now, and that he had to take care of himself, 'cuz there was no one besides him left to.

So, still shaken up, scared even, Arthur had gathered his things, and set off in the world all by himself, with nothing more than a dull hunting knife, a rucksack of some of his more immediate belongings, some food, a little money, and the clothes on his back. It wouldn't be too long before he would have to have done so, anyway. 

He'd spent whatever change he'd squandered from their home on food and supplies within the first few days, and it was all starting to run out. He was acutely aware of just how quickly his supply was dwindling every time he'd tried to go out hunting. Every attempt he'd made at trying to catch and kill his own food had been an utter failure. Asking people for help hadn't worked, and they all turned a blind eye to his plight; as if a fourteen-year-old boy trying to sustain himself with no one to turn to was something to ignore. It boiled his blood every time someone ignored his pleas for help. Wasn't like he could do anything about it, though.

Even as much as Arthur had hated his father, he couldn't help but miss him, anyway. He'd been an abusive asshole with a heart of ice, and the drink had a mean hold on him, but Lyle Morgan's life of debauchery and crime made it so there'd always been a roof over Arthur's head, and food on the table, even if the house was falling apart a little every year. Arthur had never been able to appreciate those luxuries when he'd had them, too focused on the burning fear and hatred that would build up in him every time he was unfortunately in the same room as dear old pa. And there weren't very many rooms.

And now he was huddled in front of nothing more than burning embers, shaking from the cold night as he tried desperately to get his smoke signal to turn into a fire and his stomach growled with seemingly no end to the hunger pains in sight. He tried to block the feeling out by drinking some water, but it wasn't even fooling him anymore. Water wouldn't fill the hole, and he only had a little bit of food left at this point.

_ I'm going to die_, he thought again. There didn't seem to be any silver lining or escape from this. He was helpless, defenseless, dense, and completely alone in the world, with nothing to cling to. No reason to keep trying to move forward other than the basic urge to survive. Still, Arthur kept finding himself wishing his father's murderer had taken his life, as well. It'd be better than slowly starving and freezing to death. 

And it wasn't even all that cold yet. But soon, summer would be over, and then winter would creep closer and closer. With it, it would take any plant life, and it'd make most of the animals he could live on (if he could manage to kill them) go into hiding with the harsh cold beating down on most the country. Although, he might not have to worry about all that if he starved to death first. 

His eyes started blurring with tears, but he didn't cry. There wasn't any point in crying, it wouldn't fix anything. All it'd do is dehydrate him, at best, and make him a perfect target, at worst. The plains and hills of the north were crawling with people who killed and pillaged for sport, and they didn't care if you were a grown-ass man or a little kid. Although, being just a boy, Arthur sure wished he had the advantage of being a man. At least then, he might be able to scare or fight them off. As it stood, though, he was small, and malnourished, and unequipped to deal with much more than a smaller animal attacking him. 

Although, apparently he wasn't even equipped for _ that _.

A sudden rustle in the nearby brush got Arthur to his feet in a defensive stance almost instantaneously. He searched the treeline, as well as he could in the pitch-black dark of night. His pathetic excuse of a not-fire didn't provide any light whatsoever, and so all he had was the moon overhead, mostly blocked by the trees. He squinted, trying harder to see to no avail as his hand thoughtlessly drew the hunting knife from its sheath on his hip. "Who's there?"

No answer, save for a bit more rustling in the overgrowth. Arthur could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage as he clenched the knife tightly in his hand, raising it as if preparing to use it. That's the direction this seemed to be heading in, anyway. "Who's there?!" He demanded again, more firmly and louder. "I have a weapon!"

An animal emerged from the brush, a smokey grey coyote. Its eyes glowed creepily in the night a bright, iridescent yellowish-green, and Arthur felt his breath catch in his lungs. Coyotes normally left people alone, unless they were really hungry, and this one looked like it was starving just as badly as he was. He gripped the knife tighter in his hands and tried to make himself bigger, attempting to scare it off, but as soon as he heard it growl, Arthur understood that it wasn't afraid of him. As far as the coyote was concerned, it wasn't gonna sit around and go without a meal for longer. Especially not when there was a weak, easy target right in front of it. 

Arthur braced himself as the wild animal rushed at him, baring its teeth. They dug into his arm and he screamed out, and in his panic, the knife fell out of Arthur's hand and into the burning embers. He kicked the coyote back and it flew a few feet away, whimpering at the contact of Arthur's foot to its snout. Arthur quickly snatched the knife from the embers, ignoring the pain in his hand from the heat that seared through his flesh and left his eyes stinging with tears again.

He didn't even get to blink them away before the coyote was on him again. Arthur thrashed as it continued to bite into his arm over and over. It yelped and faltered when Arthur finally managed to stab it in the shoulder, but soon brushed it off, and kept attacking him. The pain had Arthur yelling out as he continued to desperately and blindly swing the knife around, trying to stab somewhere, anywhere that would make the coyote drop dead. 

It snarled as it took a break from tearing into his arm, blood dripping off its bared teeth. It only took a split moment for Arthur to react, and he plunged the knife into the beast's back. It stumbled as it let out another wounded yelp, but it still didn't stop the coyote from getting back up again. Even visibly tolled, it was still hellbent on killing him. 

In hindsight, Arthur's pretty sure the world, or god, or some other cosmic power bullshit hates him. He really doesn't get into the best situations.

When the coyote charged Arthur again, he was quick in grabbing his knife. Of course, he still got hurt in the process, it scratched him up pretty good. Another injury atop a growing list as he stopped rationally thinking, and started just trying to stab the damn thing. After a few more failed attempts, and a couple new scratches, he finally managed to slit its throat; another thing on an also growing list of messed up things he'd seen by now.

He shook as it dropped, and he couldn't tell what exactly what from. Could be starvation, could be blood loss. The way the world was darkening around him wasn't distinguishable either way, too. Panting heavily as the rush of the moment started wearing off, Arthur's mind both muddled and went a million miles a minute at the same time. 

This wasn't something he could manage. He didn't have any medical supplies on hand, so he was basically screwed unless someone came through here. Which, he was pretty deep into the woods. The nearest trail was only a five-minute walk away, but he wasn't sure if he could even make it that far. The coyote had definitely bit him up something fierce. 

He needed to stop the bleeding. Looking at his still burning not-fire, Arthur realized there was only one way to really do that right now. He had to cauterize it. His hand still hurt from gripping his knife after it had only spent a few moments in the embers. Now, he had to burn the metal until it glowed red and press it to his skin-

He shook his head as he started to feel even dizzier. He needed to not think. He always thought too much, and he didn't have time to think. So, he laid the blade in the embers and waited. He kept pressure over the wounds while the knife heated up. It's a good thing he had basic wound knowledge, even if he couldn't properly start a fire, he reckoned.

The smoldering embers were enough, anyway. Soon, his knife was glowing bright, and Arthur reminded himself he had to do it before it cooled down. He shut off his brain as he pressed the knife over some of the teeth marks. 

The scream he made at the pain probably scared off a good bit of whatever other nocturnal creatures were still around. 

He pressed forward until he smelled burning flesh. He abandoned the knife and lurched forward, throwing up whatever little food had been in his stomach as the world began to spin. When he stopped heaving, he immediately started heating the knife back up again.

He didn't throw up again, thankfully, but he had to reheat the knife and press it to his skin a couple times before every major wound that was causing him issue was taken care of. Once he finally finished, Arthur only let himself recover for a few moments before he was stumbling to his feet. The world swayed around him as he grabbed his bag and his canteen, sheathed his knife, and started walking. He couldn't tell where he was going with how dark it was, so he just walked. Not a very good strategy, mind you, but he needed help, desperately. What had just happened was the very reason fourteen-year-old boys shouldn't be left on their own. Being young, dumb, and ill-equipped hadn't helped him at all. 

Eventually, the treeline opened into a wide plain, with plenty of roads that so far looked empty. Not a soul in sight. So, he sat, and he waited. It was an effort for Arthur to stay awake at this point. He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, exhausted. A dead tiredness he couldn't begin to describe. So when he heard the gallop of a pair of horses, he shot up from where he'd been dozing off. He stumbled to his feet shakily and spotted two riders not too far away. 

"Help!" Arthur called out as loud as he could. It wasn't very loud, but at least one of the men had still spotted him, seemingly, as they were riding towards him faster now. "Help...!" Arthur tried again, while there was a sinking feeling in his gut that these men would just ride right past him and pretend they'd never seen anything.

However, that was just bad experience talking, because these men rode up to him and hopped off their horses. "Son, what's wrong with ya? What happened?" The older looking man asked.

"Coyote," Arthur said. "Bit me real good."

"Jesus." The younger man said. "Where are your parents, boy?"

"Dead." 

The air seemed to get thicker as the strangers took that information in. The younger man with the dark, curly hair and eyes to match looked up at his older friend. "What do you think, Mr. M?"

"Well," the older man hesitated, seemingly trying to rationalize all the information he had. He looked smart. A lot smarter than the dark-haired man. "We have to help him, obviously. He's wounded badly, and the next Doctor ain't for another day or two's ride. Looks like he tried to cauterize the bites, but he did a pretty sloppy job..."

The rest of their conversation seemed to fade out from the world. Arthur didn't have the energy to keep listening, couldn't keep listening as hard as he'd been capable of trying. He only half registered being pulled up on the back of the older man's horse before the blood loss and starvation finally caught up to him, and he blacked out.

When Arthur woke up next, it was light outside. He was in a tent on a bedroll, and his wounds were wrapped up. The burns on his arms where he'd cauterized the wounds still stung, and it helped Arthur's tired mind remember what had happened. The coyote. The attack. The strangers who helped him. 

Arthur sat up as he looked out the tent flap. He could see the older man and the dark-haired man sitting in front of a fire a little over ten feet away, chatting quietly while the smell of coffee was drifting through the air. 

Arthur decided to get up out of bed and join them. His arms still hurt from all the abuse they'd gone through last night, but he figured, his legs hadn't been attacked. So, he walked out of the tent, into the light of the day. Cautiously, he walked over to the fire. The dark-haired man noticed he was up and about not long before Arthur reached them. "Ah, hello, son. How ya feeling?" He asked. 

"Better," Arthur replied simply, deciding to not tell the man he still felt a bit like shit. All things considered, he was still doing better now than he had been even before the coyote had gotten him. Save for the fact that he still hadn't eaten, but it wasn't one of his biggest concerns right now. 

The younger man stood to his feet and seemed to size Arthur up for a few moments before he stuck out his hand for him to shake. "My name is Dutch van der Linde, and this here," He pointed to the other man with his free hand while Arthur shook his extended one, "is my associate, Mr. Hosea Matthews. What's your name, son?"

"Arthur Morgan," Arthur replied, feeling a bit silly to use his full name. He hadn't needed to for a while now.

"Well, then, Arthur Morgan, come take a seat by the fire." The older man, Hosea said as Dutch let go of Arthur's hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Arthur felt a bit awkward as he sat by the fire, close to these strange men. They'd helped him, sure, but he still didn't know them, and therefore didn't trust them. Still, he sat next to Dutch at the fire. "Are you hungry?" Hosea asked next, and Arthur nodded a little before Hosea pulled a piece of meat out of his satchel, and started cooking it over the fire. 

"So, son, I hate to ask, but..." Dutch seemed thoughtful for a moment as he hesitated. "What happened to your folks that you're out here all alone?"

"Mama died when I was young. Real young. I think I was… six, or so." Arthur started. "After she died, me an' dad didn't contact her side of the family, and then it was just me an' him, 'til he was killed a little less than a month ago. And he was never on good terms with his own family, neither. So, I'm on my own."

"Em, I don't mean to pry, but... was your father, by any chance, Lyle Morgan?" Hosea asked. Arthur cringed a bit hearing his father's name out of a stranger's mouth. 

"Yeah," Arthur replied. He knew his father had been well known in this area and others for his crimes. Everyone in every town for about a hundred-mile radius had probably heard the name 'Lyle Morgan' at one point or another. 

"Oh, his death was in the newspapers," Dutch said. "Yeah, a bounty hunter went to go collect him and found him dead in his house. Word is, there was a price tag of five hundred dollars on his head."

"You've been on your own since he was killed?" Hosea asked. Arthur nodded. "Damn." The old man said sympathetically. 

"Well, you're welcome to stay with us." Dutch offered. "We ain't got much, but we ain't gonna send a young boy back out into the world by himself."

"I'm not that young. I'm fourteen." Arthur defended. It wasn't like he was a baby or anything. Some would argue he was a young man, not a young boy.

"Son, in my eyes, that still makes you a child," Dutch said. Hosea held out the piece of meat he'd been cooking to Arthur, and neither of the men said anything as Arthur started tearing into it right away. Even after only the first bite, it still felt nice to have something in his gut. "The only condition of you staying with us is that you're gonna have to earn your keep. There's a few chores around camp that me and Mr. Matthews don't get around to very often because we're busy working."

"But, you're too young to join us on our jobs." Hosea seemed to feel the need to add in.

"Right." Dutch agreed. "You think you're capable, son?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'll do whatever needs doin' if it means I don' gotta go out there again." He replied truthfully, his mouth full. "What do y'all do, anyway, that I can't join ya?"

Hosea and Dutch exchanged a brief glance with each other before Dutch came out and said, "Well, Arthur, we're wanted men, like your dad was."

"Which means, we're usually robbing a bank, or a train, or some rich fools who didn't keep a tight enough leash on their money. Which means we get shot at a lot." Hosea added.

"I'm guessing you don't know how to shoot a gun." Dutch then said. Arthur shook his head. "Yeah, I figured."

"And anyway, it's a real dangerous business. It'd be better off if you didn't come on any jobs with us, just yet."

Dutch gave him a pat on the back as Arthur finished his small meal. This was a lot of info to process. "Until then, we'll just teach you the basic stuff you need to know."

A couple days later, when Arthur was a bit more used to being in Dutch and Hosea's company, he walked up to Hosea. The older man was chopping some firewood. "Hosea?"

Hosea looked at him as the ax came down on the last piece of firewood, smiling at him before he asked, "Yeah, Arthur?"

Arthur gestured to the small pile of firewood at Hosea's feet. "You gonna make a fire?"

"Sure am," Hosea replied.

"Can you teach me how?"

Hosea picked up a pair of the half-logs he'd just chopped before going over to the fire pit with them. "How'd you cauterize those bite wounds if ya don't know how to make a fire?"

"Well, I've tried making a fire, but it never turned into much more than burning embers."

Hosea nodded a little. "Well, then, I guess it's up to old Hosea to teach you how it's done."

Hosea explained to Arthur everything he might have been doing wrong during his time on his own. How the wood Arthur collected might have been too wet to burn, how he might have been smothering any potential flames, how he might have needed more kindling. After that, he showed Arthur very carefully how to arrange the firewood, how to get the kindling going, and everything else in great detail before purposefully smothering the flame as soon as he'd managed to get it going. "Now, you try."

Arthur went about collecting some dry grass and dead leaves to use as kindling before stacking the logs the way Hosea had shown him a moment ago. When he was done, Hosea handed Arthur a matchbook. Arthur struck the match head against his boot and it roared to life before he threw it into the fire pit. Immediately, the dead grass and leaves started to burn, and eventually one of the logs caught. "Well, look at that! Ya did it. Good job, son."

Arthur couldn't much help but grin. It'd been a long time since anyone told him he'd done a good job on just about anything. Hell, he was pretty sure the last person to tell him that had been his mother before she died. His dad certainly never said that, whether because he didn't want to, or because Arthur had never done anything good enough for the man to notice, who could say at this point? "Thanks."

"Hey, Dutch!" Hosea called. Dutch looked over from where he was sitting outside his tent reading a book. "I taught Arthur how to make a fire."

"Well done, Arthur!" Dutch called over before his attention was back on his book. Despite the fact that Dutch seemed a bit more interested in whatever he was reading, Arthur still appreciated the additional praise on top of Hosea's. 

Hosea sighed, and it sounded half fond, half exasperated. "Well, if you do as well at reading or shooting a gun as you did at starting a fire, I'm sure he'll take more notice, then."

"Reading?"

"Well, of course," Hosea said. "It's a very important skill to have. You tellin' me you can't read?"

"Yes, sir," Arthur replied truthfully. "Do... you need to know how to read to rob people?"

"Well, not always," Hosea answered. "It's still a pretty important skill, though, for a multitude of other reasons. Dutch'll probably want you to learn at some point."

Arthur frowned at that. His father had been an outlaw, but not an educated one. The idea of needing to learn how to read to do something as simple as rob folk seemed like a silly idea. 

~~~~~~~~

"Come on, Arthur, we've been working at this for over a week now."

Arthur squinted at the words on the page. It all still looked like nonsense to him, despite the fact that he knew what at least a few of the words were by now. "After... breakfast... I wanted to talk about... the dead man and g... guess? out how he come to be... k...killed, but Jim didn't want to."

"Good job, Arthur." Dutch praised him. "Keep reading."

"He said it would fetch bad luck and bes..."

"Besides."

"Besides, he said, he might come and...ha'nt us; he said a... man that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one that was planted and... com... comfort-able."

"Good job, Arthur," Dutch repeated himself as he raised a hand to muss up Arthur's hair. Arthur frowned before trying to get his sandy brown locks back into place. "That's enough for now. I believe Hosea said something about us teachin' you how to shoot today."

Arthur closed the book he'd been reading and stood to follow Dutch. They walked over to Hosea, who was feeding his horse an apple. "Hosea," Dutch called to get his attention. Hosea looked at them both before giving his horse a pat. 

"Dutch."

"Say, it's been a while since we seen Bessie," Dutch said as if he'd just remembered that detail on his and Arthur's short walk from Dutch's tent to the horse station. 

"Bessie?" Arthur asked. 

"My wife, Bessie." Hosea clarified. "She went to town for a few odds and ends the day before we picked you up. She usually spends a few weeks away when she goes on runs like this. Takes a break from the runnin' and sleeping in the dirt. She'll be back soon."

"Anyway, you said we'd teach the boy to shoot today," Dutch said. Hosea nodded. 

"Yes, I did," Hosea said. He saddled his horse, a black Tenessee Walker named Onyx. "Mount up, then, we have a bit of a ride ahead of us."

Dutch hopped on the back of his horse, a caramel-colored Arabian named Duke. Arthur thought it was a dumb name. He pulled Arthur up onto the back of Duke, and they were off. They rode for about an hour before pulling into a small town. "You two wait here," Hosea said as he hopped off of Onyx and hitched him up. "I'll be back in a moment or so."

Arthur watched Hosea disappear into one of the stores. A few minutes later, he came back out, unhitched his horse and mounted back up. "Alright, let's go. I know a place, real secluded where you can practice your shootin', Arthur."

They rode a few more minutes while Dutch and Hosea chatted about an upcoming job, saying how they needed to wait for Bessie to be back from her trip before they could go pull it off, lest things go South and they had to move again. Arthur wondered what it was like, living on the run. He was sure if he stayed with Dutch and Hosea long enough he'd get to find out. Sounded like they ran around a lot.

"Alright, we're here," Hosea said as they rode into a clearing. He got off his horse, and Dutch followed suit before helping Arthur down. Hosea then pulled a revolver out of his satchel. "Picked this out at the gunsmith while we were in town." He said as he loaded it with cartridges. He handed the gun to Arthur when he was done. 

Arthur felt a bit weird, holding a gun in his hand. He'd only ever had a gun in his hand one other time when he was a bit younger; his father's gun. As soon as his father had spotted him with it, he yelled at him, and Arthur dropped the gun on the floor in a panic. He got a beating that night. He pointedly shoved that memory back down to fester. "Hosea, why don't you see if you can go find your wife? We're gonna need to pull that job soon, we're runnin' out of money and supplies. I can handle this from here."

"Alright." Hosea agreed. He gave Arthur a pat on the back before mounting up again. "I'll see you boys back at camp, then. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Arthur said. 

With a kick and a sharp "Yah!", Hosea and Onyx were off, disappearing over the horizon not long after. Dutch looked down at Arthur, who was still fiddling with the gun in his hand. 

"Well, then, son, let's teach you how to shoot," Dutch said as he stood behind Arthur. "Alright, hold it out in front of you." Arthur straightened his arms as his hands squeezed around the grip of the revolver. Dutch corrected his stance, bending his arms a bit at the elbow. "You see that bird on the ground over there?"

"Yeah," Arthur answered, watching the bird in question poke at the dirt with its beak, looking for worms to eat, more than likely. 

"Try to shoot it. Use the sights, right here," He pointed to a nub on the top of the revolver, "to line up your aim." Arthur didn't really understand what that meant, entirely, but tried his hand at it anyway. He lined up the shot, the nub pointed at the bird. "Alright, now pull the trigger."

Arthur pulled the trigger, and a loud BANG sounded out. He missed the bird entirely, and it flew off with a few panicked chirps. "Mm, that was a close shot, son. But not close enough. If that were a lawman or a bounty hunter, they woulda had time to shoot back at ya by now." Arthur frowned hearing that. "Try to aim at one of those apples in the trees." Arthur looked up from where the bird had been, raising his arms along with his gaze to aim at an apple in the tree. "Try breathing in while you aim, and holding your breath when you shoot."

That sounded like a bunch of nonsense, but hey, if this guy was an outlaw, he clearly knew better how to work a gun than Arthur did. He took a deep, steadying breath in as he aimed the sights at the apple, and then held his breath as he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew past the apple, but closer this time than the last one had been. "Try again, you almost had it that time." Dutch urged him. "You right-handed, or left?"

"Right."

"Close your left eye, use your right to aim. And drop your left hand to your side."

Arthur did as he was instructed, and felt that it was a bit more natural to hold the gun with only one hand. He closed his left eye and lined up a shot at another apple in the tree. Took a deep breath, and held it as he pulled the trigger. The bullet only grazed the side of the apple, rather than went through it, but it was still a hit. He let the breath out as Dutch patted him enthusiastically on the back. "Look at that, you hit it! Good job, Arthur!"

Arthur grinned up at the older man. "I shot somethin'!"

"You sure did, son," Dutch replied with a smile of his own and another pat on the back. "Go on, see if you can hit a couple more."

After a few more failed or close attempts and Dutch teaching him how to reload, Arthur finally shot three apples in a row straight through the middle. "You're a natural shot, my boy. Well done. I am proud of you."

Arthur felt himself basically preening at the praise. "Am I a better shot than I am a reader?" He asked jokingly.

"Oh, by a landslide," Dutch answered, and Arthur found he preferred being better with a gun than a book, anyway. Dutch patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll only get better at both as time goes on, though."

Arthur shot a couple more apples before Dutch decided that was enough target practice for one day. It was nearing sundown, and Hosea would probably be halfway back to camp with Bessie by now. "So, is this gun mine, then?"

"Of course, Hosea wouldn'ta gotten a whole new gun if it weren't for you. We both already got our own." Dutch answered, making a show of drawing his own revolvers from their holsters with masterful flair. Arthur really wanted to learn to twirl a gun like that, he thought, as Dutch reholstered them with just as much showmanship. "I got an old holster back at camp that you can have when we get back. For now, just throw it in your satchel."

Arthur did as he was told, and Dutch mounted Duke before pulling Arthur up to sit behind him on the horse. Dutch pulled out a peppermint from his satchel and leaned forward, holding it out for Duke who accepted the treat with a whinny before Dutch gave him a sharp kick, and they were headed for camp.

When they got back to camp, it was just about to turn dark for the night, the last of day's light disappearing behind the mountains. The warm glow of a fire lit up where Hosea and a lady, Bessie presumably, sat several yards away from the hitching posts, where there was a horse Arthur hadn't seen yet hitched next to Hosea's. Dutch helped Arthur get off of Duke before he hopped off as well, hitching the horse on the other side of Bessie's before slipping him a carrot that he graciously accepted. Dutch gave Duke a few pats before unsaddling him and starting to walk towards Hosea and Bessie with Arthur in tow. "Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, glad to see y'all back." Dutch greeted. 

"Dutch." Hosea greeted simply, much like he had earlier. "I was just tellin' Bessie here about our boy."

"I'm guessing this young lad here is Arthur?" Bessie said as she looked at Arthur. She looked like she was slightly younger than Hosea, but a good bit older than Dutch. Her blonde hair was greying in a few areas, and she had some wrinkles, but other than that, she was real pretty. Arthur wondered what she'd looked like when she and Hosea met. 

"He sure is," Dutch confirmed, breaking Arthur out of his thoughts. 

"Come sit, dear, I won't bite," Bessie said with an amused giggle. Arthur walked over and sat next to her. "I hope my husband didn't tell you otherwise."

"No, ma'am, he didn't," Arthur replied. He decided against telling her that Hosea hadn't even mentioned her the near half a month he'd been with them until just earlier today. It probably wasn't anything too deep to read into; there's not much reason to tell an orphaned boy you rescued not long ago about your wife if your wife wasn't around currently. 

"How old are you, dear?"

"I'm fourteen, gonna be fifteen in late June," Arthur answered.

"Oh, honey, it's already the middle of June."

"Huh, really?" Arthur asked, realizing as soon as he asked that she was probably right. He left home in early May, so it'd make sense for it to be the middle of June by now. "What day is it?"

"Hm..." She seemed thoughtful for a moment. "I believe it's June 13th."

"So, my birthday is..." He counted on his fingers real quick. "nine days away."

"Arthur, you didn't tell us your birthday was coming up," Hosea said. Arthur shrugged. 

"Clean forgot." He said. "Didn't even know if I was gonna live to see fifteen."

"Oh, yes, that's right. My husband and Dutch found you in a really bad way, didn't they, sweetie?"

"Mmhm." Arthur hummed in reply. "Coyote attacked me. I had to cauterize the wounds." He rolled up his shirt sleeve and showed her the burns on his arm. The burn scars hid where most of the bites had once been. Arthur himself hadn't looked at his arm much since it happened, so he was just as disgusted as Bessie seemed to be before he rolled his sleeve back down. "Even before that, though, I was freezin' and starvin' to death. Probably wouldn'ta made it much longer, if they hadn't found me."

"Oh, you poor boy," Bessie said with no short amount of sympathy in her voice as she cupped Arthur's face in her hand. "You're lucky my Hosea has such a heart of gold."

"Alright, dearest, don't smother him," Hosea said with a laugh in his tone. "Arthur ain't the affectionate type. Boy's a bit like a coyote himself."

Bessie chuckled a little as she patted Arthur's cheek a few times, drawing her hand back and giving him the space Hosea told her to give him. Truth be told, Arthur found he didn't mind the affection. Bessie reminded him a bit of his mother, if only because she was the only woman who'd shown any care for Arthur since his mama died however many years ago. None of pa's lady friends ever paid Arthur any mind, and all the strangers he'd asked for help after being on his own ignored him, up until Dutch and Hosea came around. 

"Well, then," Dutch said as he joined them by the fire. He tossed something, and Arthur barely had a moment to think before he caught it. "Hosea, would you work on something for dinner?"

"Sure," Hosea said and got to work as Arthur looked down at the item in his hand. A gun holster. 

"We're gonna have to do something for your birthday then, Arthur," Dutch said as Arthur started to clip the holster to his belt. "You're turnin' fifteen?"

"Mmhm," Arthur replied. He took his revolver out of his satchel and stood so he could put it in its new holster. 

"By the way, Hosea, our boy here is a natural shot," Dutch said as he saw Arthur with his gun. "Shot three apples in a row from thirty or so feet away. After some struggle, of course."

"I had a feeling he'd be good with a gun," Hosea said. "I'm sure he'll get better with practice."

"Undoubtedly." Dutch agreed. "For now, if it came down to it, he could probably defend himself at the most basic level."

"I think it should go without saying that you should keep your gun on you at all times, Arthur," Hosea added without looking up from the piece of meat he was frying over the fire on a knife. "Lotta nasty folk in this part of the country try raiding camps in the night, and they might end up goin' for your tent before mine or Dutch's. Gotta sleep with one eye open, 'round these parts."

"Okay," Arthur said, wrapping his fingers tightly around the grip of his gun in its holster as he thought about the fact that he couldn't move it from there from now on. Then again, having something to defend himself with basically glued to his hip day in and out didn't sound so bad.

"Which reminds me," Dutch prefaced, "we're gonna have to get the boy a proper tent and cot at some point. Some new clothes wouldn't hurt, either."

"And we still have to teach him how to fish and hunt," Hosea added. 

"And when I'm done teachin' him to read, he should also learn how to write."

"Sounds like I got my work cut out for me." Arthur chipped in.

"Oh, you sure do, son. Sounds to me like your daddy didn't teach you much before he made his short trip to hell- ah, no offense." Dutch said awkwardly.

Arthur shrugged as he stared at the fire. "Didn't much like my daddy, anyway."

"Of course, we should teach him a few other things, like how to find edible plants and some basic first aid stuff." Hosea changed the topic back with ease.

"And he needs a horse," Bessie added, wanting to be a part of the conversation.

"Ah, yes, that's right," Dutch said. "You ever ride a horse, Arthur?"

"Nah," Arthur replied. "Not without someone else steerin' it."

"Well, we'll have to teach you that, too, then."

After they all ate, Hosea and Dutch told a couple stories from before Arthur had stumbled into their lives. "I swear, there musta been forty or fifty of 'em. Right, Dutch?"

"Pretty sure, somethin' like that, yeah." Dutch pitched in. Hosea was mostly the one telling the story.

"So, yeah, we were surrounded by about forty or fifty of those boys, shots going everywhere. Nearly thought it was the end, til the law showed up. Me and Dutch just barely slipped away in the chaos of it all. Oh, and this other time-"

"That's enough for one night, Mr. Matthews." Dutch interrupted as he stood from the log he'd been sat on. "We don't wanna tell him all our best tales in one go. Besides, it's getting late, and we gotta get up early tomorrow for that job."

"You guys sure I can't come with?" Arthur asked, hoping that they'd had a change of heart. "Can't be that hard to rob some fools."

"Yes, we're very sure, Arthur," Hosea said. "You're only a boy. And besides, you don't even have a horse yet. And that's how we usually get away with our heads still intact nine times outta ten. Guns ain't as useful as a fast horse when there's an army of lawmen chasing you."

"Runnin' away? Ain't that kinda cowardly?"

"It ain't cowardly, it's smart." Hosea chastised. "And anyway, I'd rather be cowardly and alive, than brave and dead."

Arthur huffed, accepting the fact that Dutch and Hosea wouldn't be taking him on a job any time soon. He'd only just learned how to kinda sorta work a gun that afternoon, so what was he expecting? "Alright."

"Like I said when we took you in, there's plenty to be done 'round camp. Bessie'll teach you the ropes while we're out tomorrow." Dutch said. Bessie and Hosea stood from where they had been sitting, and Arthur finally stood himself, dusting the dirt off the bottom of his jeans as he did. "Get some rest, then, you lot. Big day tomorrow."

Dutch went to his tent, Hosea and Bessie to theirs, and Arthur to the tent he'd been borrowing. Whereas Hosea and Dutch's tents were made for staying somewhere for long periods of time, Arthur's was a simple camping tent with an even simpler bedroll, while they had cots. But, there was a fire nearby to warm them up, he had something to defend himself with, and there was food in his belly. All in all, Arthur figured he didn't mind sticking around with Dutch and Hosea. 

And he couldn't help but smile as he remembered being called 'our boy' by Dutch and Hosea the past week or so. His father had always made a point to avoid or ignore him, and all the good memories Arthur had of his mother were hazed over by now. So, being called anyone's boy made him real warm and fuzzy inside. It felt like he belonged here like Lyle Morgan was just a bad memory, and Beatrice Morgan a distant dream. Hosea and Dutch, though, were a reality, and Arthur promised himself there and then he'd do whatever it took to keep the small semblance of a family he'd found as he drifted off to sleep. 


	2. The Necessities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the bank heist goes well, Hosea takes Arthur shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually been working on this story for about three weeks now, so I already have the first five chapters already written out. That being said, after this one, the story will probably update sporadically, as I said before. I'd like to be at least two to three chapters ahead of you guys so that it doesn't ever take too long in between updates. That being said, there might still be times when this story may go a few weeks without updating, as I plan on this being more than 100,000 words long. Please be patient with me, I don't have internet at my house, so I have to update this story at the library, and I hardly ever get the time to go.
> 
> With all that said, please enjoy chapter two.

Arthur woke up at around noon, sunlight filtering into his tent and blinding him. He sighed as he sat up. Then he frowned, remembering he had to do chores today. Accepting his fate as quickly as he'd grown dismayed with it, Arthur pulled his boots on and left the comfort of his tent and bedroll. 

Hosea and Dutch, along with their horses, were nowhere to be seen. Bessie was sat by the fire with a mug in hand, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air. She spotted him immediately, and he sat across from her at the fire. "Good afternoon, Arthur. How did you sleep, honey?"

"Fine." He replied. 

"You want some coffee?"

"Sure."

She poured some into a mug and passed it to him. Arthur looked down into the contents of the cup, swishing the dark liquid around. "Where's Hosea and Dutch?"

"They went on their job a little over an hour ago, said they'd be back within a few hours." She replied. Arthur took a sip of his coffee and gagged at the bitter taste. Bessie chuckled a little. "Never had coffee before?"

"No." He answered. "Why do adults drink this stuff? Nasty."

"Well, it's better with milk and sugar, but we don't have any of those at the moment." She said. "But, it gives you energy."

Arthur figured he'd need energy if he was gonna do chores. So, he drank the rest of his cup in almost one full gulp. He made a face as he finished it, and passed the cup back to her. "So, you're supposed to teach me how to earn my keep?"

"Oh, it's not much." She said as if she could read his mind. Which, he was thinking of a whole workload until she said that. "All we gotta do is put some hay for the horses near the hitching post, chop some firewood, get some fresh water from the stream, and tidy up a little. I think we can handle all that, just the two of us."

"Alright." He said, standing. "Guess we should get to it, then."

He moved hay bales, chopped wood, and got water from the nearby stream while Bessie cleaned up around camp. She insisted on taking some more of the workload for herself, but Arthur denied the help. He could handle it. 

Chopping firewood was a bit tricky, the ax a little too heavy in his hands, and by the time he was done, there was sweat beading on his forehead; but all in all, he finished his chores within the hour, and then sorely wished he hadn't because Dutch and Hosea weren't back yet, which left him with nothing to do. He sat at the fire as he wiped his sweat glistened forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, frowning when he realized that he really did need new clothes.

Speaking of clothes, Bessie had already finished tidying, and so had taken to mending a shirt, presumably Hosea's. It was too light in color to be Dutch's; the only colors Arthur had seen the man wear so far were blacks and dark greys. Mrs. Matthews seemed to notice his eyes on her since she looked up from her task. "Yes, Arthur?"

"Can you teach me how to do that?" He asked, pointing to the needle and thread in her hand. He wasn't quite sure why he wanted to learn how to sew, other than having nothing better to do. Usually, sewing was a woman's job, or at least that's what his father had always seemed convinced of. Arthur didn't see any reason men couldn't sew.

"Sure." She answered with a smile, patting the spot next to her. He stood, and walked over to sit next to her. "Sewing is a pretty useful skill. I've been told it's a bit different, mending a shirt versus a wound, but some basic knowledge with a needle and thread is never anything to scoff at."

Arthur watched what she was doing carefully, as she pulled the needle and thread through the fabric for a good few moments before finally passing it to him. "You try, now." He tried to copy what she had done exactly, finding himself to be worse at this than her. "You're doing good." She said, despite his own doubts. 

"I dunno seems a little too spaced out to me." He said as he kept working and scrutinizing himself.

"Nonsense, you're doing just fine." She replied. Soon, Arthur reached the bottom of the hole in the shirt and sealed it up with thread. "Alright, now make a few knots so it won't come loose, and then get rid of the excess thread." He did as he was told, making a knot pressed against the fabric of the shirt before she handed him a small pair of scissors and he cut the rest of the thread off. "There you go, you're a natural."

"Eh, not really," Arthur said, looking at his handiwork. "Think I'll leave the sewing to someone who knows what they're doing."

"Oh, you'll get better. It takes practice, dear."

It was then that two familiar horses and riders came into view, and Arthur mentally slapped himself for being so happy about their return, like a dog waiting for its owner to get home from work. "Oh, here's the boys now." She said as she put the mended shirt into a bin next to her. "Why don't you go greet them?"

Arthur nodded, standing from his spot and running over to where Hosea and Dutch were riding in from. "How'd it go?" He asked.

"Marvelously, son, it went marvelously," Dutch said with a big grin on his face. Arthur noticed the giant canvas sacks on the back of both their horses. "One of the biggest scores we've pulled in a while."

"Since it went so well, we decided to use a bit of the money to get you some of the things you need," Hosea said, pulling the bandana that had previously covered his face to rest around his neck. Dutch dismounted and pulled the bag off the back of Onyx before Hosea offered Arthur a hand. "Come on, we're gonna go shopping."

Arthur shrugged and muttered an 'okay' before Hosea pulled him up onto the back of Onyx. He then turned his attention to Bessie. "My dear, I hate to leave you again like this, but we'll be back before dinner."

"Alright," Bessie said with a smile, walking closer to Onyx. Hosea leaned down to her. "You boys have fun, be safe." She said before Hosea leaned further to steal a quick kiss.

"We will. And I'll make sure to get something nice for you, too, my love."

She waved him off dismissively. "Worry about the boy, I have plenty of other nice things from you already."

Hosea nodded, but Arthur could tell even without seeing his face from here that he had no intention of focusing only on him. Which, Arthur was fine with because Hosea didn't need to be spending his hard-earned cash on him, anyway.

Dutch came over a moment later with a nice stack of bills in his hand, that he gave to Hosea. Hosea put it in his satchel. "We'll worry about an exact split later. For now, that should be enough for you to get young Arthur here some things."

"You ready, then, Arthur?" Hosea asked, looking back at him. Arthur shrugged. 

"Sure."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clothes shopping kinda sucked. Arthur didn't really have an idea what his sense in fashion was. He felt like he should be gravitating towards some kind of style, but in the end, all he got was a couple simple button-up shirts, some new boots, and a couple pairs of nondescript jeans. Hosea also got him a new hunting knife, remembering how Arthur mentioned his was dull, and a nice necklace for Bessie, despite the fact she'd told him to worry about Arthur.

He immediately changed into some of the new clothes as soon as they were purchased. It felt nice, to wear new, clean clothes when he'd been wearing the same thing since he'd left home. "Lookin' sharp there, Mr. Morgan," Hosea said as he walked out of the dressing room. Arthur felt a bit embarrassed, being addressed by his last name. Felt more... grown-up and formal, somehow, even as he stood there looking like a right fool. As far as he imagined, anyway.

"Thanks, Hosea." 

"You're welcome." The older man said as they walked out of the store. He walked over to Onyx and stored Arthur's new tent and cot on his back. It looked a bit heavy, but Hosea seemed confident Onyx could handle the weight of the cargo and Hosea's at the same time. "Now, let's go get you a horse."

Arthur blinked. "A horse?"

"Of course. You need one." Hosea said as he started walking towards the stable. Arthur followed. 

"I guess I kinda figured that'd be a different trip, or that you'd like, teach me to tame a wild horse or somethin'."

"Well, we probably should teach you that at some point," Hosea said, deep in thought. "Does nicely in a pinch, if something happens to your own steed, or it's too far away to come get ya. But, no, your first horse should be a bought one. They're bred for speed, the wild horses, not so much. And speed is pretty important."

"Aren't horses expensive, though?"

"Well worth the cost, if you take proper care of 'em. A properly taken care of horse'll get you far for a good number of years."

Arthur shrugged, realizing he wasn't gonna talk Hosea out of buying him a horse. 

The stable only had three horses for sale. A Dutch Warmblood, an Appaloosa, and an American Paint. The Dutch Warmblood was chocolate in color, with a black mane and tail and dark eyes to match its coat. It was also the most expensive one, and Hosea said right off the bat he wasn't buying no three hundred dollar horse. Arthur agreed that was kind of a ridiculous price, for a horse.

Arthur eventually went for the American Paint. He was light brown with white spots, golden eyes and a blond mane and tail. "And what are you gonna name him?" The stable keeper asked. Arthur thought for a moment. He hadn't been ready to pick out a name, what with this horse thing being sprung on him so quickly. 

"Uh... His name is..."

"Don't think about it too hard, son." Hosea joked.

"His name is... Charlie."

The stable keeper nodded, starting to write that down on a paper that he handed to Hosea when he was done. "Here's his papers." Hosea put them away in his satchel as the stable keeper walked over to a wall filled with horse brushes. "And here's a free brush, on the house." He said as he handed it to Hosea as well. Hosea handed it to Arthur instead, and Arthur put it in his satchel. 

After Hosea bought some horse provisions and paid for Charlie, they left the stable, Hosea leading Charlie over to where Onyx was still hitched up by the general store. "Probably best if we get out of town before you go trying to ride him. One wrong move, he could get spooked, buck you right off in the middle of the street where you might get trampled."

"Yeah, I don't much like towns, to begin with," Arthur replied. Hosea laughed a bit at that, passing Charlie's reigns to Arthur as they led the horses out of town on foot. 

Once they were far away enough from the small town, Hosea stopped in his tracks. "This should be good. Think you can mount him by yourself? You put a foot in the stirrup, pull yourself up, and swing your other leg around."

It was anything but graceful, and he clearly struggled, but Arthur put his foot in one of the stirrups, clumsily pulled himself up before swinging his leg over to the other side, sitting in the saddle by himself like he'd done it a million times before. It sure felt different, being the only one on the back of the horse, especially knowing it was his horse and that he was gonna have to steer. It made him a little scared, honestly. 

"Good job. Now, grab the reins." Hosea instructed as he mounted his own horse. Arthur took the reigns in his hands. "Don't let Charlie know you're afraid."

"I ain't afraid." Arthur snapped back.

"Sure, son." Arthur frowned. "Keep your legs stiff. Don't pull the reins too hard, you'll dig his bit into his mouth, it'll hurt him, and he'll buck ya. Give a gentle kick to the sides, and a," He made a clicking sound as he gently dug his spurs into Onyx's side, urging the horse forward at a slow pace. Arthur copied him, clicking as he kicked Charlie's sides. Charlie started moving forward, following close behind Hosea and Onyx. 

"When you get to a bend like this one, steer by pulling the reins the direction you want him to turn." Arthur successfully got Charlie around the bend. "When you want him to go faster, give him a slightly sharper kick." Hosea kicked Onyx's sides a little harder this time, urging him to go faster. Arthur did the same, and Charlie quickly caught up with them. "There you go, you got it, son. How ya feeling?"

"Think I'm gettin' the hang of it."

"Alright, good. It's about an hour's ride. Should give you plenty of time to get used to it."

By the time they were riding into camp, the sun was just about to set for the night, and Arthur was a bit more comfortable riding Charlie. Gave him plenty of pats, and a sugar cube for having to deal with such an inexperienced rider. Charlie made what Arthur could only assume was a happy horse noise as he accepted the offering, and he had to stifle a laugh at how Charlie's lips felt against the palm of his hand. They rode up to the hitching post, and Dutch spotted them. "Well, then! Who's this we got with us?" He asked as he walked over to them. 

"Charlie," Arthur replied.

"What a fine horse he is," Dutch said. "Ain't he a little big for you, though, son?"

Arthur shrugged. "I should grow into him soon enough." He replied as he dismounted, struggling a little. 

"Seems like he's grown into you." Dutch laughed as Charlie nuzzled up against Arthur's neck. Arthur gave Charlie another pat before hitching and unsaddling him like he saw Hosea do with Onyx any time he hitched him for the night. Hosea did that, along with taking the tent and cot off of his back and slipping him a treat. "You need help there, Hosea?"

"Yes, please. You take the cot." Dutch took it from him, slinging it over his shoulder. "Arthur, help me set up your tent."

Arthur helped Hosea set up the tent, which was a lot more spacious than the camping one he'd been lent, and then Dutch set up the cot. Arthur finished it off by sliding his new clothes under it. He'd worry about somewhere else to put them down the line. "You got somethin' to say to Hosea, Arthur?" Dutch asked as they all settled around the fire for the night.

"Thank you, Hosea," Arthur said. Hosea gave him a fond smile. 

"You're welcome, Arthur."

"You look handsome in those new clothes, Arthur," Bessie said as she worked on dinner.

"Thanks, mo- er, Bessie." He felt his face flush red at his slip-up. 

She seemed to be flattered, however. "Oh, honey, you can call me mom if you want to." She giggled. 

"Hell, far as I'm concerned, this man here is my brother," Dutch said as he nudged Hosea with his elbow. "And you're our family now, too, Arthur."

Arthur shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, for whatever reason. "Um, okay."

This new development shook him a little, even for as much as he appreciated it. Much as he liked being called 'son', he'd never read into it much until now. Was it maybe because he didn't want to call these men, who had been so nice to him, 'dad' when the word 'dad' was associated in his mind with a violent drunkard who was now dead? Or because he didn't want to so readily replace his mother, even after all these years of being without one? He didn't know.

Either way, none of them seemed to notice his inner turmoil, so the rest of the night moved on like normal. They ate dinner, chatted, Hosea gave Bessie the necklace he'd gotten for her (she loved it, but made a show of pretending to be annoyed with him for going out of his way like that), and before long, Dutch said it was time for bed. Hosea told Arthur they'd be up early, so he could teach him how to hunt. They all went to their respective tents, and Arthur's now had enough room for him to leave his boots inside, rather than out in the open where morning dew or rain could make them wet. 

Arthur didn't get to sleep, so after about ten minutes of lying on his cot and trying to shut his brain off, to no avail, he sat up and pulled one of the books Dutch gave him out of his satchel. It was a different book than the one he'd been reading, written by a man named Evelyn Miller, something or other. Dutch went on for a good five minutes about how the up and coming writer was his favorite, how he had certain prose and was close to God, or something. It was hard to see, with only a small oil lantern to light up the tent, but Arthur tried reading, anyway, despite the fact that he wasn't very good at it yet, and most of the words went over his head. 

He barely finished the first chapter before he realized this was a book for men far more intelligent than him. So, he turned the lantern off and laid back down. Sleep didn't come easy, but it came eventually. 

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

Arthur woke up in the early morning, feeling a bit chilly as he pulled his blanket over him a bit tighter. It didn't do much, so he abandoned any hope of getting back to sleep, pulling his boots on and stepping out into the morning.

Hosea was the only other one awake, sitting by the fire with a cup of coffee in hand. Arthur decided he didn't want coffee again any time soon, not without milk and sugar like Bessie had suggested. He sat across from Hosea, who was looking around, listening to birds chirp happily. "You're up early," Arthur said to break the silence.

"I almost always am," Hosea replied as he finished off his coffee. "Morning time clears the mind like nothing else."

Arthur tried to slip into Hosea's mindset as it went silent again, nothing but the sounds of the wind rustling through the trees, the birds singing their morning song, and the fire in front of them crackling. He just found it awkward, honestly. "So, we're going hunting today?" He asked to break the silence again.

"Yep."

"What we hunting for? Deer, moose?"

"Mm, Moose and deer are a bit too big for just the four of us. It'd be a waste. I was thinking rabbits or a duck." Hosea answered as he refilled his coffee. "You ever been hunting before? Know how to use a bow?"

"No," Arthur answered honestly. "My... father didn't really teach me much like Dutch said."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. It's not that hard." Hosea assured him. 

It was then that Dutch emerged from his tent for the day, his dark curly hair still sleep mussed, and his shirttail only half-tucked into his pants. He stretched his limbs as he made his way over to the fire, sitting on the log next to Hosea. He yawned as he said, "Good morning gentlemen." and pulled his coffee mug out of his satchel. 

"Good morning, Dutch." Hosea greeted back, raising the percolator of coffee and pouring some into Dutch's cup. "Sleep well?"

"Like a goddamn baby," Dutch replied as he started quickly draining his cup. He made a slight face at the bitterness of the coffee, but kept on drinking, anyway. Arthur cringed as he remembered the taste of straight coffee by itself, and made a mental note he'd have to try it with milk and sugar like Bessie suggested at some point. Or, maybe just stay away from coffee in general, the one experience really had soured his opinion. "You takin' Arthur hunting?"

"Sure am," Hosea replied. "What do you think we should go after, Arthur? Duck or rabbit?"

"Uhhh..." Arthur didn't know quite what he wanted out of this trip, so he shrugged. "I dunno, rabbit?"

"Rabbit is some pretty good eating," Dutch said. "Real versatile animal. You can cook 'em up and eat 'em by themselves, or you can throw 'em in a stew."

"Couldn't the same be said for most animals?" Arthur asked. 

"Eh, in theory," Hosea answered. "Personally, I prefer rabbit over an open fire, rather than in a stew."

"I'm inclined to agree with you there," Dutch said. Arthur didn't have any input, personally. He'd never had rabbit, over a fire, in a stew, or otherwise. "Arthur." Dutch's voice broke Arthur out of his thoughts, which were currently focused on wondering which he'd prefer. He looked up at the older man and waited for instruction. "When you and Hosea get back, we should practice your reading some more."

Arthur sighed a little. "Okay." He easily gave in. "Can we read a different book, though? I swear, that one you got me reading doesn't even have real words in it half the time."

"Yes, Mr. Mark Twain is a pretty acquired taste, I'll grant you that." Dutch hummed in reply. "You still got that Evelyn Miller book I gave you?" 

Arthur nodded, pulling it out of his satchel. "I tried reading it on my own, but, uh... There's a lot of really big words."

Dutch chuckled. "Well, good job for trying, anyway, son. Don't worry none about that, I'll help you later if you get stuck on any words. Probably best you read a book like  _ that  _ than ' _ The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn _ ', anyway."

Arthur only shrugged. From what he'd read of the Mark Twain book, the parts he had understood were at least mildly entertaining. The Evelyn Miller book, he'd kind of understood a bit more of, and it was... kind of horribly boring. But, he was Dutch's favorite author, and he used actual words. Arthur agreed that ' _ The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn _ ' probably wasn't supposed to be a book you were to learn to read with. Although, he supposed he had to have started somewhere.

Hosea then stood to his feet, wiping off the front of his jeans with his hands before picking his coffee cup up and draining the rest of it. He dumped the stray liquid on the ground before stuffing it into his satchel. "Well, then, Arthur, are you ready to go?"

"Sure," Arthur answered, standing from the log he'd been seated on. 

"You boys have fun," Dutch said.

"We'll try," Hosea replied. "Come on, Arthur." Hosea started walking towards their horses, and Arthur followed closely behind.

Arthur saddled Charlie up, while Hosea did the same. The older man seemed to take a minute to make sure they had everything they needed for the trip, going through saddlebags and checking his weapons, and Arthur took the extra time to brush Charlie down and give him a treat; a bright red juicy apple. Charlie ate the apple seemingly happily, and Arthur gave him a pat before clumsily mounting up. "That horse does sure seem to already really like you, Arthur," Hosea said as he mounted Onyx.

"You think so?" Arthur asked, hating the eagerness in his voice as he did so. It was probably really silly, to want a horse's affection that much, but Arthur found he already really liked Charlie, too, and he'd only had the horse since yesterday evening. 

"Of course," Hosea replied as he spurred Onyx into a trot. Arthur gave Charlie a small kick, and they were soon following closely behind Hosea and Onyx. "Come on, I know the perfect place to hunt."


	3. Intimate Surroundings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a hunting trip with Hosea, Arthur finds himself in familiar territory.

The first few minutes of the ride were mostly silent, save for the sound of birds chirping, the trot of their horses, and wind rustling the leaves of the trees above them. Arthur never much liked the outside, especially after being forced to live in the wilderness by himself for those few weeks. But, with Hosea only a few feet in front of him, and the steady weight of his gun holstered to his hip, Arthur found it easy to like the scenery all around him, knowing that nothing bad would happen. Or, at least, knowing it was less likely. 

"So, Arthur." Hosea finally said to break the silence. "How long have you been with us, now? About two weeks?"

"Something like that, yeah," Arthur replied.

"We still don't know all that much about you." Hosea continued. "If you don't mind my asking, I'd like to know more about your life before we found you."

Arthur tried to think of how to answer that, and even as much as he didn't like it, he decided on just... telling the truth. "There's not really much to be said." He prefaced, hoping Hosea would stop him right there. He didn't, so Arthur reluctantly continued. "My mama died when I was young. Probably about, six or seven years ago now. She got really sick, doctors didn't quite know what it was. She was recovering for a little while there, or at least I thought she was, but... she just, died in her sleep one night. Wasn't nothin' we could do for it."

"Oh..." Hosea said quietly. "I'm real sorry, son."

"It's alright," Arthur said. "I mean, I'm used to it, I guess. After mama died, my father didn't show up to work for a real long while, so he lost his job. He kept lookin' for work, but I guess at one point or another he decided it was easier to get things if you took them. He started just robbin' folk, but then he moved on to massacring 'em. And he drank, a lot." Arthur paused, awkwardly clearing his throat. "He didn't much like me. Always made it pretty clear. I didn't really like him much, neither. He wasn't a good man."

"And, what do you think separates me and Dutch from your father? We're outlaws, too."

"I dunno," Arthur replied honestly. "I dunno, just. If he'd gone out and pulled a bank job like you and Dutch did yesterday, he woulda come home covered in blood. He didn't much care who he killed, long as he scored big. He told me once when he came home after robbing and drinking that he killed some man who wouldn't give 'im his money, 'cuz he needed it to take care of his family. So, dad shot him and took it anyway. And, after that, I couldn't help but wonder how many husbands, and fathers, and brothers, and uncles of others' he'd killed. Y'know? You and Dutch only kill people who shoot at you, first. It's self-defense."

Truthfully, Arthur had no idea what Hosea and Dutch did when they were out on a job, and whether he was right or not. He didn't see any reason for them to just run around randomly shooting people, though. They didn't seem like the type. He had a little faith in Dutch and Hosea, even though he hadn't been with them very long yet.

"Just because it's self-defense doesn't mean we aren't still killing someone else's husband, or brother, or whomever."

"At least you kill for a reason, and not just for sport," Arthur said bitterly. "I swear, my old man _liked_ killing innocent people by the end. At least you and Dutch don't _ like _ killing."

"Well, I can't argue you, there," Hosea replied with a sigh. 

Arthur felt he should shut his trap there, but this rant was a long time coming. And anyway, if he was gonna get it off his chest, he felt a bit more confident speaking with Hosea. Dutch was great, but he seemed to jump to conclusions a little too quickly. Arthur didn't think Dutch would quite know how to handle it if he told him all this. He'd probably just stop Arthur in his tracks and go on some tangent about something or other. Hosea seemed wise, though, like he thought things through, tried to see them from all sides. Hosea was a much better listener, too. 

"He beat me, too." Arthur avoided Hosea's gaze back at him, however brief. "Any time I tried to stick it to 'im and tell 'im how much of a piece of _ shit _ I thought he was, he'd push me on the floor, shove my head into a wall, whip me with a belt." There was a tense silence that passed between them after that was said. 

"... God, Arthur, I had no idea." Hosea said, with no short amount of sympathy lacing his tone. "You know me and Dutch'll never do that to you, right?"

Arthur nodded a little, before remembering Hosea was looking forward at the road and couldn't see him. "Yeah. I know."

Honestly, he really didn't. His daddy had been decent before mama died, and then he turned out to be... well. Who's to say Dutch and Hosea wouldn't end up the same? The only thing he could really do was _try_ to trust them, hope that they weren't like _that _deep down.

And, a dark thought to accompany that, but at least he could defend himself, now.

Arthur decided to shove that particular train of thought down where it could fester. The idea of causing Hosea or Dutch any harm was an unwelcome one, and he desperately hoped it'd never come down to that. After all, Dutch and Hosea had been nothing but nice to him. Still, it was hard to trust them, or anyone, really. 

"The spot I'm taking us to ain't too much further now," Hosea said, easing the conversation back into normalcy. Arthur had to wonder if the older man had some sort of sixth sense for when it was time to change topics. Dutch probably wasn't as perceptive of when it was time to put a pin in a conversation, for when a topic was too sensitive to keep pushing. Arthur was thankful Hosea didn't keep pushing.

Arthur looked around them and found that the terrain looked real familiar. There was a tree in front of him that had a curled branch that he was sure he'd seen at some point before, as well as a familiar-looking bridge. A sudden feeling of unease gripped him, and he wished he could explain it. When he couldn't find a reason, he decided to ignore it, best he could. 

They rode a little further until they pulled into a clearing surrounded by woodlands. Hosea hopped off of Onyx before hitching the horse to a tree, giving him a few pats as he pulled a bow and a quiver full of arrows from the saddle. "We're gonna head into the woods, that's where a good deal of game is. You'll always find more animals in the woods than you will on the plains."

"Okay." 

"Here," Hosea said as he handed the bow and quiver to Arthur. "Use the strap, put it on your back." Arthur did as he was told, putting the quiver on his back with the strap. "Come on, follow me." Arthur started following Hosea into the woods.

As he looked around, the sense of unease grew a bit stronger. "I feel like I've been here before." He said quietly. Hosea looked back at him briefly but kept walking forward, looking intently at the ground. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for tracks," Hosea explained. 

Arthur kept following behind him, and the terrain only became more and more familiar to him. "Wait."

Hosea stopped in his tracks, turning to face Arthur. "What's wrong, son?"

Arthur looked around some more, and then, deep into the treeline, he spotted a cabin. He pointed, and Hosea followed his gaze to the small cabin, probably only a hundred or so yards away. "Over there, that was my house."

It had to be. The curled tree and the bridge they'd rode in from was a common sight for him whenever Arthur had wandered a little too far from home. He even passed it on his way out of there when he'd left for good. Hosea looked at the cabin, and then back at him. "Do you wanna go over there, or...?"

Arthur weighed the options. He hadn't grabbed much when he left, only whatever he could fit into his rucksack that he thought he would absolutely need. He hadn't grabbed any personal effects whatsoever. He nodded, albeit a little hesitantly, since one part of him was screaming at him to go grab some more of his things, and the other half screaming at him to get as far away as possible.

Hosea seemed to notice his reluctance, but he didn't bring it up. Instead, they walked towards the cabin. The closer they got, the more uneasy Arthur felt, but he'd already made up his mind.

They soon reached the cabin, and Hosea held Arthur back with his arm as he drew his gun. "There might be squatters in there." Hearing that, Arthur drew his own gun, hoping that, if there were squatters in there, he might be able to help Hosea in dealing with them.

Hosea knocked on the door lightly, and when there was no response, he pushed the door open slightly. Arthur cringed as the sound of the door scraping against the floor echoed through the woodlands around him. The door had always been a bit too low on the hinges. Hosea stuck his head in, still brandishing his gun as he slowly entered the cabin. Arthur followed closely behind. Hosea opened doors to different rooms, sticking his head in before moving on to the next before he ran out of rooms to check. "Okay, there's no one here." He said as he holstered his gun. Arthur followed suit before looking around what was once his home.

It had definitely already been ransacked. Any left behind valuables were gone, and drawers and cupboards had been left hanging open, emptied out by whoever had been here in the time since Arthur left. The bloodstain on the wall from where his father was killed was now rusty in color, clearly fading into the wood. And, on the rack by the door, Arthur spotted a familiar hat. Worn, black leather contrasted by lightly colored rope. His father's hat. 

Arthur walked over and removed it from the rack as he felt the worn leather between his fingers. Memories decided to pop up, of his father putting this same hat on his head every day he came home from work. Up until mama died, then daddy started hating him, and Arthur wasn't allowed to touch the hat. He frowned. The very few good memories he had left of his father were tainted with all the bitter experiences that now outnumbered them. 

He put the hat on his head, deciding to claim it as his own. Whether to keep the good memories alive or to spite his father from the grave, he couldn't tell. Either way, the hat was his now. 

Hosea didn't say anything about Arthur's new accessory, probably piecing some things together himself, as Arthur continued to look around his old home. There was a picture frame on the mantle of the fireplace, a picture of his mama, and another one sitting on an end table of his father. He grabbed both and put them in his satchel as he continued to look around for other things. He didn't wanna come back here again after today if he could help it. 

When Arthur was pretty sure he'd grabbed everything he wanted, he took one last look around before turning to Hosea. "Let's go, I don't wanna be here anymore."

"Alright," Hosea replied patiently and gently. Arthur was grateful that Hosea was so patient. The older man put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the cabin and back into the woodlands. "You still wanna go hunting, then?" Hosea asked him. Arthur nodded.

"Could we go somewhere different, though?"

"Of course, son," Hosea said. They walked out of the woods and mounted their horses before taking off in a different direction. 

About thirty minutes later, they were walking around an entirely different stretch of woodland. Hosea was looking at the ground for tracks and soon spotted some. "You see those tracks?"

Arthur squinted as he looked where Hosea was pointing. He saw something, but he wasn't sure if it was tracks. But, then again, he had no idea how to track, and he assumed Hosea most definitely did know, so he guessed that what he was looking at was, indeed, animal tracks. "Just barely."

Hosea squinted at the tracks himself for a moment before standing a bit taller, still hunched a little as his eyes followed where they led. "Yep, just what we're looking for. Rabbit. Come on, Arthur."

Arthur followed behind Hosea with the bow in his hand, looking at the tracks as they followed them. Soon, Hosea held a hand up, and Arthur stopped. "Look, right there." He whispered as he pointed. Arthur had to look for a few moments before his gaze finally dropped on what the older man was looking at. A rabbit, barely ten feet away from them. "Be real quiet, we don't wanna spook it away," Hosea said as he slowly walked behind Arthur. "Alright, hold the bow out in front of you, with your arms straight." 

Arthur did as he was told. "Like this?" He whispered back. Hosea corrected his stance a little before grabbing an arrow from the quiver on Arthur's back. He handed it to him.

"Alright, you're gonna want to put the bottom of the arrow, where the flight is, on the string, and then pull back. It's a bit like aiming with a gun, so close your other eye."

Arthur listened best he could to the instructions Hosea was giving him, and he pulled the bow back with the arrow still loosely in the grip of his fingers. "Now, just like Dutch told you for shooting a gun. Breathe in when you pull it back, hold the breath as you fire." He did so, breathing in, and then holding it as he let the arrow fly towards the rabbit. It hit but didn't kill it. "Good job, Arthur." Hosea praised him, anyway, at a normal volume now that the rabbit couldn't go anywhere, or at least, couldn't get far if it tried. "Now, come on, let's go put the poor creature out of its misery."

Arthur followed Hosea over to where the rabbit lay, an arrow in its hide as it twitched and squealed in pain. "Take out your knife, and go stab it in the throat," Hosea instructed. Arthur handed the older man the bow before pulling his hunting knife out of its sheath. He walked over to the rabbit and bent down to its height before sliding the blade into its throat, effectively silencing it and putting it to rest. "Alright, take the arrow out, put it back in the quiver, and pick the rabbit up."

Arthur did so and held the rabbit by its legs. "Alright, let's go, then. I'll teach you how to skin it when we get back to camp." Hosea said, before walking back in the direction they'd come from. Arthur followed behind, slinging the rabbit over his shoulder as they walked.

When they got back to the horses, Hosea tied the rabbit by its legs to Arthur's saddle, and they mounted up, heading towards camp.

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

It was only nearing noon when they rode into camp. He and Hosea rode Onyx and Charlie up to the horse station and hitched their horses before Hosea pulled the rabbit from Arthur's saddle. Arthur gave Charlie a few pats and a sugar cube before they walked towards the campfire, where Bessie was sitting mending a shirt. She spotted them as they got closer, and smiled. "Well, then, I'm guessing hunting went well." She said.

"Sure did," Hosea replied happily. "He learns quickly, got it in the first try."

"He sure does." Bessie agreed before looking at Arthur. "That's a nice new hat you have there, Arthur. Where'd you get it?"

Arthur shrugged. "Found it."

Hosea looked at him briefly and nodded ever so slightly. An unspoken agreement between them to not mention where Arthur had actually gotten it. Bessie took no notice of the gesture. "It'll keep the sun out of his eyes, at least." He said to her.

"It's a little big on him. Maybe we could find him a new one?" She suggested.

"No," Arthur said, a little too quickly. They both looked at him, and he quickly fixed himself. "I mean, I like this one. I'll grow into it."

Truthfully, he didn't really like the hat. It looked okay, but it was still tainted by too many bad memories. He only took it because it felt poetic in some way. Maybe he'd grow to like it at some point, but for now, he didn't.

"Where's Dutch?" Hosea changed the topic, and Arthur was thankful for that. 

"He went on a supply run, said we were low on ammo and canned food. I think he also went to go get a birthday present for Arthur."

"It's still like, a week away," Arthur said, not really liking how many times his birthday had been brought up since he'd revealed that it was soon. He also didn't like the idea of getting a gift. Why should he be rewarded for being born, when it was his mother who'd done all the hard work?

"Well, he was going into town, and might not end up going back within the next week, so he said he'd pick it up while he was there, anyway," Bessie replied as she went back to mending the shirt in her lap. Arthur hid a frown hearing that. He really didn't want a birthday present, didn't much want a party, either. He wanted to mention how they'd already gotten and done so much more for him than they had to, but he held his tongue. Knowing Hosea and Bessie, they'd quickly shut him down and tell him he deserved gifts and a party, even though Arthur felt that was far from true.

"That reminds me, I should go into town soon for a present for you, as well," Hosea said. Arthur wanted to frown even more. Hosea had already gotten him a gun, new clothes, a new knife, _and _a horse, to boot. Not to mention, the bigger tent and the cot. "Is there anything you want?"

"Not really," Arthur replied honestly. "I already have more here than I ever had at home." He pointedly ignored the sympathetic looks Hosea and Bessie were giving him. He didn't want pity, not when they'd already given him so much of that on top of all their charity. 

"Well, I'm sure I'll find something you like," Hosea said, and Arthur had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes. "Anyway, let me teach you how to skin rabbits."

Hosea instructed him, and, with some struggle, Arthur managed to pull the hide off the rabbit. "Thought you used knives to skin animals? All I did was pull the skin off."

"Well, rabbits are easy," Hosea replied as he took the rabbit's body from Arthur's hands. "It's easier this way. I'll teach you how to skin with a knife if we catch something bigger."

Arthur shrugged. "Okay."

After the fact, Hosea suggested Arthur find something to do, so he decided to practice his reading. He really didn't want to read the other book written by that Mark fella, so he pulled the Evelyn Miller book out, instead. Dutch was gonna make him practice when he got back, anyway, so he might as well get a jump on it. 

Reading was frustrating, and Arthur didn't particularly like it. But even Hosea said it was important, and he seemed like a pretty good authority on useful skills to have. So, he kept trying, as much as he wanted to do nothing more than throw the book in the fire pit and be over with it. 

When he wasn't struggling to figure out a word in a sea of confusing words on the pages, his mind wandered. The worn hat atop his head felt heavy as he tried to process this morning; going back to his home when he'd been happy to leave in the first place. Well, not happy. Things had been looking a little grim for him, even at the beginning of his time alone, so he definitely wasn't happy. He sure was quick to leave, though. 

And more than all that, Arthur tried to process everything that had happened since he left home. Being ill-equipped, unprepared, and struggling in every sense of the words, every day, for nearly a month. The coyote attack, cauterizing the bites, being saved by Hosea and Dutch. It all felt surreal; like any moment, he'd wake up in his tiny little camp with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a couple of cans of food, and a dull knife. 

The thought of being out there alone again was enough to make him shudder. Even with all the tools Hosea and Dutch had given him so far, Arthur was sure he still wouldn't make it out there alone. 

But, what about when he _was_ ready to be alone when he could take care of himself? Would Hosea and Dutch throw him out? Would they wait until he was an adult, or would they kick him to the curb as soon as he showed signs of being capable? Or, worse yet, what if they just left him behind one day because he'd been a bigger hindrance than a help?

Arthur shut the book, realizing he'd been paying too much attention to his thoughts to read it, anyway. It all just looked like letters.

He tried to put his thoughts together. No, Hosea and Dutch wouldn't leave him, he was... _pretty _sure. He tried to push the doubts down and struggled against them. He didn't know Dutch and Hosea, not really. Arthur was _pretty_ sure they weren't bad men, that they'd saved him, and wouldn't abandon him or toss him out, but there was still this little voice in the back of his head that reminded him that human beings had an incredible capacity for being corrupt.

Hell, who was to say that he was any good? After hearing what Hosea and Dutch did for a living, most people in his stead would have run to get the authorities; or at the very least, they'd openly condemn it. Arthur just nodded along and even asked why he wasn't able to go join them in robbing and killing. Said he'd do anything, as long as he didn't have to go back out into the world by himself. Kinda felt a bit like willingly selling his soul for a warm bed and people to rely on. 

The sound of a horse trotting into camp broke Arthur out of his thoughts, and he nearly reached for his gun as he looked up- realized it was Dutch, and heaved a small sigh of relief. He was always skittish when he was wrapped up like that. 

Dutch dismounted Duke and gave him a carrot and a few pats before hitching him up. "Dutch, welcome back!" Hosea said from his seat at the campfire next to Bessie. 

"Hello, Hosea, Bessie, Arthur." Dutch greeted as he walked over. "Hunting went well, I take it?"

"Yep, it sure did," Hosea replied. "Arthur killed a rabbit, on his first try."

Arthur wanted to tell them it wasn't the first time he'd tried to kill a rabbit, but the memory of chasing one and cursing as it kept eluding him is an embarrassing one. So, he held his tongue.

Especially as Dutch came over and patted him on the back. "Good job, Arthur." And then he paused before saying, "Oh, nice hat."

Arthur knew that had been coming at some point, and he was glad that they'd all seen it now and the hat would be dropped. "Found it." He said like he'd told Bessie earlier. 

Dutch gave him another pat on the back before saying, "Ah, I see you were reading that Evelyn Miller book I gave you." Arthur looked down at the book in his lap before Dutch was sitting next to him. "How far have you gotten?"

"Not very," Arthur admitted. "I read 'til like, the middle of chapter two, but most the words go over my head."

"Alright, well, I told you we'd practice your reading today. So, open that book up, son."

Arthur sighed, and did as he was told.

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

Arthur found that, by dinner time, he was starving. It was a struggle to wait until his portion of rabbit was cooled down enough to eat, but once it finally was, he tore into it. Somehow, knowing he'd killed the rabbit made it tastier.

Hosea, Bessie, and Dutch all seemed to like their servings as well, and the three of them congratulated him for a job well done. Dutch even said that the rabbit was big enough for everyone to have seconds, and they were all quick to jump on that. 

The past two weeks of always having big, warm meals had done Arthur some good. Even now, he could tell he was gaining a little weight, getting a little closer every day to what he'd looked like before being thrown out into the world, and then starving most days. He'd started feeling even more defenseless as soon as the weight started dropping, so to gain it back made him feel a bit stronger. 

Hosea told a story after dinner about a train he and Dutch had robbed at the beginning of the year. _Supposedly,_ there was a rival gang _and_ the law to deal with at the same time, which had made it harder for them to escape with their lives. Arthur listened contently, wondering if most the stories Hosea told were true, or if they were just that; stories. Either way, he was pretty impressed.

"Alright, gentlemen, I believe it's time for bed," Bessie said as soon as Hosea was done telling the story. Arthur hated that they went to bed basically right after dinner. It was still pretty early, they could easily stay up a bit longer.

"She's right," Dutch said, standing from his seat and stretching out his limbs. He walked over to Arthur, and gave him another pat on the back, saying, "Thanks for dinner, son. That was a real good rabbit."

"Thanks," Arthur replied. Hosea and Bessie stood from their spots at the campfire, and Arthur soon followed suit. Whether he liked it or not, it was time for bed. 

"Goodnight, everyone," Dutch said as he walked towards his tent.

"Night," Arthur replied.

"Goodnight, Dutch," Hosea said, yawning. "Goodnight, Arthur. Sleep well."

"Night, Hosea, Bessie."

"Goodnight, dear," Bessie said to him with a smile as she and Hosea started towards their tent.

With everyone else in bed, Arthur retired to his own tent for the night. He sat, took his boots off, putting them by the foot of his cot. Then, he removed the hat from his head, and set it on top of the pile of clothes under his cot. He'd have to find somewhere better to put that stuff eventually, but for now, it worked. 

Arthur laid down and found that sleep came pretty easily to him that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter and haven't already, please leave a kudos and a comment! They're all greatly appreciated.


	4. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's birthday.
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, please leave a comment! ^3^

When Arthur woke up on his birthday, he immediately wanted to go back to bed and sleep the rest of the day away. 

He didn't care for today at all, and it had only just begun. He just knew Hosea, Bessie and Dutch were gonna smother him with gifts, appreciation, and a party, all of which Arthur wanted no part in. Hell, these people barely knew him, and yet were still making a bigger deal out of his birthday than he himself ever had.

Arthur stalled for time, kept his tent flap closed as he listened to his new family start their days just outside, unaware that he was up. He cleaned his gun like Dutch had taught him to just a couple days ago, even though there was no point in cleaning it. He hadn't even really used it yet, aside from target practice. When he was finished with that, he pulled his boots up onto his lap, unlaced and relaced them back up. And then, when he couldn't find anything else to bide his time with, he got dressed, put his boots and his hat on before stepping out of his tent to face the music. 

Bessie spotted him as soon as he did, smiling as she said, "Well, good morning, birthday boy!" Arthur sighed quietly. He didn't even make it over to the campfire before someone mentioned it was his birthday. 

"Mornin'." He greeted them as he sat next to Dutch, who gave him a strong pat on the back.

"How'd you sleep, son?" He asked. Arthur shrugged.

"Fine, I guess."

"How's it feel to be another year older?" Hosea then asked, and Arthur shrugged again.

"Fifteen don't feel much different from fourteen." He replied. "Look, you guys really don't need to make such a big fuss 'bout my birthday, it's just like any other day."

"Nonsense!" Dutch said, and Arthur wanted to bash his head into a wall because of his stubbornness. "Sounds to me like you missed out on just how much fun a birthday can be. It seems only fitting that we give our newest member the best damn birthday of his life."

If Arthur were another year older for every time someone had already said 'birthday' today, he'd hop on Charlie, ride away, and never come back, if it meant he wouldn't have to deal with everyone making such a big deal out of it. 

"You know," Dutch continued as Arthur seriously considered escaping, "I was your age when I left home. My daddy died in a field in Pennsylvania during the war, and my mother and I never saw eye to eye." Hearing that made Arthur wonder even more if he could get away with, well, getting away. Of course, it was only wishful thinking, since, by tomorrow, things would be back to normal, and he'd be back to liking them all again. 

After having something to eat for breakfast, Arthur got on to his chores, even as they all insisted he should take it easy today. Arthur didn't listen. So, he fed the horses, got some water from the stream, and chopped firewood, all whilst Hosea, Bessie and Dutch forgot about his birthday for a brief time. Or, at least, stopped mentioning it.

It didn't last long, though, since they were right back to talking about his birthday as soon as he finished and sat back down at the fire. "So, Arthur, is there anything you wanna do today?"

Arthur shrugged. "I guess it'd be nice to go for a ride."

And that's how, ten minutes later, he, Hosea, Bessie, and Dutch ended up on their horses, riding along the trail. It was warm today, and Arthur knew it would only get warmer as summer progressed. Everything around them was in full bloom, the grass was vibrantly green, and the sky was clear. He forgot about his annoyance as they rode, breathing in the fresh air. 

They eventually ended up in the small town they'd been camped near this entire time Arthur had been with them, and he only just noticed the sign that said 'Welcome to Crestville!' on their way in. They hopped off their horses and decided to lead them, the streets of Crestville a bit too small for the four of them to be hogging them up from the local population. Arthur looked around at people going about their days, wives yelling at their husbands for being liquor-soaked before noon, a couple fellers by the gunsmith throwing some nasty words at each other, children running around, screaming. This was why he'd avoided civilization as often as possible. Too noisy, too populated, and too drama-centered.

It was then that he noticed a man sitting outside of the bank. He couldn't have been too much older than Arthur, nineteen or twenty at the most. His clothes were as dirty as the rest of him and hung off his thin frame. His face was sunken in, his hair was knotted and greasy looking, and he was holding a small cup in his hand. He held the cup out as someone walked past him, right into the bank without even a glance. 

Hosea seemed to follow Arthur's gaze on the man as it lingered a little too long, and he tapped Dutch on the shoulder, pointing towards the man. When Dutch finally spotted him, he handed Hosea Duke's reigns, and Arthur watched as Dutch approached the man. "Hello there, sir," Dutch said to the stranger, holding out his hand for him to shake. The man did, as Dutch introduced himself. "My name is Dutch van der Linde. What's yours, son?"

"Billy." The man said.

"Well, Billy," Dutch said, digging through his satchel as he pulled a decent stack of bills out, and handed them to Billy, "how's about you go get yourself somethin' to eat?"

Billy looked up at him with wide eyes, his previously sad expression melting away as he stood to his feet and exclaimed, "Oh, thank you, sir! You're very kind. I been sittin' out here, starvin' the past week! Thank you, thank you!"

"No need to thank me, friend," Dutch replied. He patted Billy on the shoulder. "Have a good day now, sir. I hope what I gave you is enough to pull you through 'til you get back on your feet."

"Thank you, sir!" Billy yelled again in Dutch's direction as he started back towards their small group. He took Duke's reigns from Hosea, and they started walking again. 

"Why'd you do that?" Arthur asked curiously. 

"What do you mean, why did I do that?" Dutch asked. "Poor boy looks all skin and bones."

"Well, yeah, but..." He looked around, lowering his voice as he realized how many people were around them. "What's the point of robbin' lots of money if you're just gonna give it away?"

"Arthur, I am surprised at you," Dutch said, a small amount of disappointment in his voice. "What kind of a man would I be if I just kept on walkin' past that poor feller and did nothin' to help him?"

"Besides, we scored big on that last job, and we'll more than likely still have money from that when we go to pull the next one." Hosea chipped in. "We're not out to get filthy rich, just to make enough to get by, and maybe a bit more. We'd be fools if we didn't try to help out every now and then."

"Well..." Arthur thought for a moment. "Then, why didn't you just take him in, like you did with me?"

"Oh, no, I know his type," Dutch said. "He's a softy, could see it in his eyes when he shook my hand. He wouldn't last more'n five minutes in our line of work."

"How much did you give him?" Hosea asked, sounding only just barely interested in the answer.

"Little over fifty bucks. Should hold him over for a while, if he doesn't spend it all on booze and hookers."

"Barely a drop in the bucket, compared to what we made," Hosea said, and Arthur had to wonder just how much he and Dutch made on that bank job. He didn't ask, though. "I imagine there's a couple other desperate fools 'round here, and even if we gave them all fifty bucks each, we still wouldn't really be out of pocket."

"I got a sayin', son," Dutch said, looking at Arthur. "We save fellers as need savin', feed fellers as need feedin', and shoot fellers as need shootin'. That man didn't need savin' or shootin', just feedin'."

"Okay." Arthur conceded, even if he still didn't entirely understand.

They eventually left Crestville and mounted up again as they continued on their ride. It was mostly uneventful, with Hosea, Dutch, and Bessie making a bit of conversation every now and then while he lingered a bit behind them. Though a question popped into his mind, and he felt the need to ask it as soon as there was a lull in the conversation. "So, Dutch, Hosea. How'd you two start workin' together, anyway?"

The pair both looked back at him before looking at each other and laughing. "We both tried robbing each other," Hosea replied.

"What?"

"Yeah. Hosea here is a natural con man. Spun me a yarn a mile long about needing to get home to Paris, France." Dutch said with a laugh. 

"I was just about to hook 'im, too, 'til I realized my gun and my things were gone," Hosea added.

"Once we realized we were both tryin' to rob the other, we decided we'd get a lot further if we teamed up."

"How long ago was that? A year, two?" Hosea asked.

"I think about two years, now." Bessie chipped in.

"Somethin' like that, yeah." Dutch agreed. "Course, it took a few weeks before we even started to trust each other, but now, well, I couldn't imagine life without my partner in crime."

"Neither could I," Hosea said.

"So, wait," Arthur said as another thought came to him. "You said that guy couldn't join us 'cuz he was a softy. You sayin' I ain't?"

"Oh, I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on ya that you weren't," Dutch said. "Knew right away you were just the type to be suited for this kinda life."

_ I'm just a kid, how can I look like a potential criminal?  _ is what Arthur wanted to say, but he didn't.

The rest of the ride was pretty boring, but not in a bad way; maybe peaceful would be a better word. Hosea, Dutch, and Bessie kept talking, while Arthur lingered slightly behind them, silent. He took in the world around him; the trot of their horses, the warmth of the sun, the smell of flowers fully in bloom. Any tension he was feeling was soon long forgotten as they rode along at a slow pace, with a cool breeze going by. They rode by a different part of the stream they were camped near, and Arthur could see fish swimming around in the clear water. His annoyance slowly died down, almost entirely gone by the time they got back to camp. 

Arthur decided to practice his reading when they got back, and by dinner time, he was almost reading the book entirely on his own, with Dutch or Hosea only having to help him with a bigger word here or there. They both made it pretty clear that they were proud of his progress, and Dutch even said that Arthur would be ready to learn to write soon. Which, despite the fact he still didn't see the use in being able to read, it still made Arthur pretty proud of himself. A little less than a month ago, he'd been entirely illiterate, and now he was ready to start learning to write, could almost read by himself. It was hard not to let that go to his head, so Arthur didn't even fight it. 

Around the campfire for the night, Bessie, Hosea, and Dutch tried teaching Arthur a few songs they knew and told stories. Apparently, Hosea had been an actor before becoming an outlaw, and Arthur honestly could see that, given that Dutch had called him a 'natural con man'. As they ate dinner, Arthur thought it tasted better that night, what with everyone laughing and having fun around him. Hell, he was laughing and having fun, even as Dutch and Hosea announced it was time to give him his birthday gifts. Of course, that didn't stop him from rolling his eyes a little, the gesture covered by the brim of his hat and the low light, now that the sun had gone down.

Dutch came back with more than just a gift for Arthur, he also returned with a bottle full of amber-colored liquid and a couple shot glasses. Before he could even ask about it, Hosea was holding something out. "Happy birthday, Arthur."

"What is it?" Arthur asked as he took the item in hand, turned it over a few times. Looked like a book, leather-bound.

"It's a journal," Hosea replied. "You can't write yet, but I noticed you drawing in the dirt with a stick when you're bored. Figured, you should have somewhere to keep more permanent drawings."

Arthur looked up from the journal, across the fire where Hosea sat with Bessie. "Thank you, Hosea." He said. He looked back down at the journal, flipped it open. The pages were completely blank, not even lines to write on. Arthur had nearly forgotten all about how much he'd liked drawing, hadn't done so properly since before he left home. There's not a whole lot of time to doodle when you're worrying about starving to death. Of course, leave it to Hosea to figure out something Arthur liked doing when he hadn't even mentioned it.

Bessie then reached in her satchel, said, "I didn't get you much, I'm afraid." as she pulled a chocolate bar out, passed it to Arthur. "With how personal my husband's and Dutch's gifts are, I didn't really know what to get for you."

Arthur had never much been a fan of sweets, not since he was little, anyway. Still, he couldn't remember the last time he did have candy, so he took the gift with a smile. "Thank you, Bessie." There was still a part of him that was annoyed with the fact he hadn't had any say in the matter as to whether he got a party and gifts or not, but seeing as they all seemed more than happy to smother him, well... Arthur wasn't gonna continue to look a gift horse in the mouth. The least he could do was sit there and pretend like the notion of being spoiled didn't make him uncomfortable.

"You're welcome, dear," Bessie replied with a smile of her own. 

Meanwhile, Dutch had been pouring liquid into shot glasses quietly this entire time, looked at Arthur as soon as he was done talking to Bessie, asked, "So, you ever had whiskey before, Arthur?"

"Isn't he a little too young to be drinking?" Bessie asked with a certain disapproving tone in her voice before Arthur could get a word in edgewise.

"A little drink ain't gonna kill him, love," Hosea replied easily as he wrapped an arm around her.

"So, Arthur?" Dutch asked again as he started passing the shots out. Arthur shook his head.

"No, never had alcohol. I mean, I had a sip of my daddy's beer once, but..." He decided to leave the part out about getting a beating that night. It seemed every time he had to tell them about his father, he had to consciously remember to leave out getting beaten. The only one who had any idea how horrible a man his father had really been was Hosea, and he aimed to keep it that way. "That was a long time ago." The hat on his head felt heavy again, and Arthur decided to take it off, sat it on the ground next to him as Dutch passed him a shot glass.

"In my opinion, beer is hardly alcohol," Dutch replied. "Takes forever to get ya drunk, and doesn't have the same burn that liquor does."

"Obviously worked well enough for you on your last birthday," Hosea replied smugly, then looked at Arthur. "He got so soaked, he couldn't even make it back to his tent. Collapsed right outside it, and slept in the dirt 'til noon."

"I had a lot more'n just beer that night," Dutch said with a laugh.

"Well, let's not let young Arthur here get that far gone," Bessie said.

"Of course not. Just a drink or two, no big deal." Dutch replied, leaned back as he raised his glass. "I propose a toast."

"A what?"

Dutch didn't even entertain Arthur's question, just kept talking. Seemed like Dutch was pretty good at that; just talking. All eyes were on Arthur, and glasses raised as Dutch continued. "To the birthday boy. May he have many great birthdays to come."

"Hear, hear," Hosea said in way of agreeing. The four of them clinked their glasses together, Arthur only following by example rather than familiarity. Dutch and Hosea were quick to down their shots, while Bessie seemed to take small sips from hers. Arthur, meanwhile, swished the whiskey around in his glass for a moment, looking down at the amber liquid hesitantly. In the end, he shrugged, threw the shot back like he'd seen Hosea and Dutch do a moment ago- before immediately regretting it as he gagged. 

"Jesus, that's rough." He coughed. Hosea and Dutch seemed amused at his discomfort, while Bessie sipped on her drink with a look that might as well have said 'I told you so'. 

"You think that's rough? You should try moonshine." Hosea replied.

"Don't think I will be anytime soon," Arthur muttered.

"I had my first drink at around your age," Dutch said with a chuckle. "Drank it too fast, and threw up all over myself. Thought I'd never take another sip of alcohol ever again."

"What changed that?" Arthur asked out of curiosity.

Dutch seemed to consider the question for a moment, before replying, "Well, I got older, and it got easier to hold my liquor."

Like many times already today, that led to Arthur having a question he needed answered. "How old are you and Hosea, anyway?"

"Well, I should hope I don't look too old to you, considering I'm only twenty-three," Dutch answered. That honestly surprised Arthur. He thought Dutch would at least be in his late twenties. Arthur did the math in his head quick and realized Dutch wasn't even a decade older than him.

"I'm fifty-two, and still kickin'." Hosea then answered.

"Oh, I hope you don't plan on asking Mrs. Matthews how old she is," Dutch said with an amused smile. "The first time I asked, she slapped me right across the face."

"Oh, no I didn't." Bessie denied.

"Yes, you did," Hosea added.

She rolled her eyes, before saying, "To answer your question," (even though Arthur hadn't asked) "I'm forty-five."

"You don't look that old," Arthur replied truthfully. Though, he didn't have much frame of reference. The oldest woman he'd ever known the age of was his own mother, and she'd only lived to see thirty.

Bessie took the compliment, anyway, smiled as she said, "Well, aren't you a gentleman?"

"Anyway," Dutch said as he pulled something out of his satchel, turned to Arthur and handed it to him. "Happy birthday, Arthur."

Arthur looked down at the object placed into his hands. It was a pocket watch, and it had an 'A' carved into the back of it. Dutch explained, saying, "I figured you should have a timepiece, and while I was in town, I remembered the fence 'round here did custom engravings."

"'A' for 'Arthur'?" Arthur asked, despite knowing the answer already. Dutch nodded, and Arthur looked back down at the watch in his hands. "Is this real gold?"

"Genuine, one hundred percent," Dutch replied.

Arthur frowned, said, "Why'd you go and spend so much money on me? This must've cost an arm and a leg."

"Oh, it wasn't that expensive." Dutch denied. 

Arthur came to terms with the fact that, if it did cost a lot, Dutch wasn't gonna tell him. Or, at least, was gonna deny it had been a hindrance. Truthfully, Arthur couldn't understand how they had enough money to give it away as freely as they did. He looked back down at the watch, said, "Well, thank you, Dutch."

"You're very welcome, son," Dutch replied seemingly fondly, as he patted Arthur on the shoulder. "Now, anyone up for another round?"

By the time Arthur was three shots in, Bessie had said he'd had enough. Arthur agreed. There was a warm feeling in his stomach where the whiskey sat, and a stupid grin on his face he couldn't wipe off as Dutch and Hosea continued to tell stories, including one about how Dutch had slammed into a tree while riding his horse one time. Hosea said that he thought the impact must have done serious damage, and they all laughed and joked.

The effects of the alcohol were wearing off by the time Hosea said, still laughing, "Alright, it's getting late. We should all get to bed."

"He's right." Dutch agreed, and Arthur frowned. He hated bedtime. 

"Do any of y'all have a pencil I can borrow?" He asked. "I wanna draw in my new journal."

Hosea seemed pleased to hear that, smiled as he said, "Sure, son. I'll go get one for you." And then walked over to his and Bessie's tent.

"Did you enjoy your birthday, Arthur?" Dutch asked. Arthur had to think that over.

"Yeah." He decided. "Yeah, I did. One of the best birthdays I've had." And, that was weird to admit, given that this morning, he'd wanted nothing more than for his birthday to not exist, for the calendar to skip from June twenty-first right to the twenty-third. But, it obviously hadn't, and Arthur had dreaded being doted over. Now that it was all said and done, though, well... he could only think of one birthday that had been better than this one. And that was a long time ago.

Dutch seemed pleased enough with his reply. "I'm glad to hear it, son."

Hosea came back a moment later. He was staggering a little from the alcohol, but it was only just noticeable. He held out a pencil, and Arthur took it, said another, "Thank you, Hosea."

"You're welcome, Arthur." He said. Dutch, next to him, went to stand up, and stumbled around worse than Hosea, so the older man said, "I think you had a little too much, friend."

"You're probably right," Dutch replied, laughing as he collected up the whiskey bottle and the glasses. He tripped over his own feet and swayed as he attempted to get to his tent, so Hosea rolled his eyes, walked over to him and held his arm.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Hosea said patiently as he helped a no doubt drunk Dutch towards his tent. "Goodnight, Arthur. Happy birthday." He said over his shoulder. 

"Night Hosea, Dutch," Arthur replied.

"Happy birthday, Arthur!" Dutch called over. 

Bessie then stood from her seat, said, "Goodnight, Arthur."

"Night, Bessie."

She started over towards her and Hosea's tent, and when he was done getting Dutch to bed, the older man joined her. And then it was just Arthur by the fire.

Arthur flipped open the journal Hosea had given him, held the pencil in his grip as he tried to think of what to draw. He decided on drawing Hosea, Bessie, and Dutch sat around the fire he was in front of right now with smiles on their faces. He was by no means a great artist and probably didn't do his family any justice, but watching the pencil make marks on the paper made Arthur feel calm. He really had missed drawing.

When he was satisfied with how it looked, Arthur shut the journal, put it, the pocket watch, the chocolate bar and the pencil in his satchel. He collected his hat from where he'd left it lay on the ground next to him, and went to his tent.

After taking his boots off, and dumping the rest of his stuff under his cot, Arthur laid down and pulled the covers up over himself. Sleep didn't come easily; he found himself lingering on the memory of the best birthday he'd ever had.

It was nine years ago now, his sixth birthday. The last birthday he'd had with his mother still alive. He'd woken up that morning to the smell of breakfast wafting through the house. He'd gotten plenty of new toys, plenty of love from both of his parents. Arthur had been allowed to wear his father's hat the entire day, and he could still remember the brim of it blocking his vision every few seconds as it refused to stay on his head right.

It was a happy memory, but also a sad one. The last birthday he'd had with his mother still alive, the last birthday his father had been decent with him. She'd gotten sick that following autumn, seemingly got better by the end of winter, but died in the spring, just before his next birthday. Lyle Morgan had fallen fully into the bottle by then, lost his job not long before Arthur's seventh birthday. He spent his eighth birthday doodling in his room, avoiding his father as best he could as the man in question drank the day away. He got no love, no presents, and wasn't even allowed to wear the hat.

And every birthday after that, up until today, had just been progressively worse. The present he got for his tenth birthday? A beating. His daddy had been drinking even more that day, blamed his mother's death on him. As Arthur tried reasoning with him that it wasn't his fault, that she'd just gotten really sick and there was nothing they could have done about it, his father had taken off his belt and given him a nice whipping with it. Told Arthur to pay him some respect, that what he said was law around their house. Arthur had cried himself to sleep that night.

His heart felt heavy as he continued to try to sleep. There was a question in his mind, consisting of one word that had buzzed inside his head for the longest time now; why? Why did his daddy grow to hate him? Why did his mother have to die? Why couldn't he have just lived out a happy life, with a loving mother and father, at least for a little while longer?

There wasn't an answer, or at least, he'd never been able to find one. And so, Arthur tried shutting his brain off again for the night, and soon fell into a dreamless slumber.


	5. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it should be mentioned that I'm kind of just writing this story as I go with no real outline, and thus, the pacing might seem a bit weird at times. Also, I'm just really out of practice for writing a big fic like this. The last time I wrote a big fic was, like, April of 2018. I mostly write one-shots nowadays, and I've never tackled a project this big, so please have patience with me as I get back in the flow of writing a chapter-by-chapter story. Thanks for reading, please leave a comment if you like this chapter! ^3^

__

They were running.

Dutch and Hosea had tried to hit the same bank as before, but this time, the law in Crestville had been ready for them. The pair returned to camp with a stolen wagon, explained that they all needed to pack up quickly and leave.

The hot, late August sun beat down on Arthur as he worked hastily, packing his tent, cot, and clothes in the back of the wagon with Dutch, Hosea, and Bessie's stuff. Hosea and Bessie drove the wagon, while Arthur and Dutch rode behind them on Duke and Charlie.

It was three days ago that they'd left their camp near Crestville, and Arthur was helping Hosea and Dutch set up their new camp. Dutch explained that they were near a town called Tripoly, just as podunk and desperate as Crestville had been. Livestock town, so the scores should be good.

Apparently, though, this part of the country was even more dangerous than where they had fled from. Hosea came back from town the next day with a grim look on his face, and Arthur overheard his and Dutch's conversation. "They're called The Johnson Gang. Heard in town, they're worse than the bunch back near Crestville. Known for pillaging and raping."

"Jesus," Dutch said in reply. "We can never seem to catch a break, huh?"

"So it would seem." Hosea agreed. "Just thought you should know, we shouldn't let our guards down."

And so, Arthur didn't let his guard down. Did his chores, doodled in his journal, practiced his reading and writing, but never let himself fully relax. Always went to bed with a hand on his gun, which he never allowed to leave his side.

Just because he was ready for something to happen, didn't mean he was actually prepared for it.

It had barely been a week since they'd started living here, but the local troublemakers didn't need much longer than that, it would seem. Arthur was awoken one night to being forcefully dragged out of his tent, his sleep grogged mind not reacting quickly enough to retaliate. As his captor threw Arthur to the ground, he noticed Hosea and Dutch were already being held at gunpoint themselves by another man. Bessie must have already been woken up by the same guy that grabbed Arthur, as she was on the ground, too. 

"Alright," The bigger man said, looking at Dutch. "Now, here's how this is gonna go; we're gonna take all your stuff, and then we're gonna leave. And you ain't gonna get the law on us, 'cuz if you do, you'll regret it."

"I don't think my friends and I are gonna let you rob us this easy," Dutch replied, even as his hands were raised in the air in surrender. He was disarmed, by the look of things, his gun holsters empty at his hip. 

"I don't think you and your friends have much choice in the matter." The man said back to Dutch. Dutch still looked collected, even as Hosea looked a little shaken, and Bessie looked about as terrified as Arthur felt. 

Dutch stepped forward, though, looked like he had no fear in the world as he said, "You ain't robbin' us, mister." in a real cold voice that almost reminded Arthur of his father.

It was then that a gunshot sounded out, and Arthur's tired mind only just had the chance to register that he was the one that pulled the trigger before shots rang out. "Get some cover!" Dutch yelled out, and Arthur scrambled quickly behind a rock nearby. He watched as, several feet away, Hosea tossed one of his guns to Dutch. 

There were a lot of missed shots. The two men who'd been holding them up couldn't quite aim right at any of them, and at the same time, Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur weren't shooting very well, either. Eventually, though, there was the thud of a body on the ground. Realizing the other man was now drastically outnumbered, Arthur's shaking hands gripped around his revolver, he lined up the sights, and-

The man ducked out of the way before he could shoot, scooping Bessie up as he held a gun to her head. "I'll shoot her!" The man threatened. "I swear to God, any of you move, I'll shoot her goddamn brains out!"

Bessie looked absolutely terrified, eyes wide with fear as she was held captive. Hosea and Dutch had both come out of their hiding places, and Hosea looked almost as terrified as his wife did.

"Now... mister..." Hosea started easily, slowly. He and Dutch both raised their hands in surrender again, dropped their weapons to the ground. "Don't, don't kill her."

"Whose kid is that?" The stranger asked, pointedly glaring at Arthur. "Who the hell gave him a gun? He's just a brat. He even know how to use that thing?"

"I'm not sure," Dutch replied, playing stupid. He looked at Arthur, said carefully, "You know how to use that thing, son?"

Being the only armed one left in their group, Arthur took that to mean Dutch wanted him to... well.

But looking at the shot, it came with a lot of risks. Bessie was right there, being held awfully close and at gunpoint, no less. If he screwed up the shot, he could kill her. Or, miss the man holding her, and then he'd shoot her, anyway. And he didn't look content to leave here without having killed and robbed them. 

"I don't know," Arthur replied honestly. Because shooting apples out of trees or at glass bottles was different than shooting a person. But as the man pressed the gun against Bessie's temple, Arthur knew he had to act. As soon as the man's attention was back on Dutch, Arthur raised the gun after pulling back the hammer, aimed as quickly as he could manage, and pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes as the shot rang out, kept them closed as he heard a body hit the ground.

Opening them a moment later, Arthur saw Bessie collect herself from the ground shakily, stepping back from the dead body of the man. She ran over to Hosea immediately, who threw his arms around her and pulled her towards him. "Oh, my God, that was close." He said, voice wavering as they all tried to calm down. "Are you okay?"

"I'm, I'm fine," Bessie replied, still shaken. 

Arthur's heart was still beating in his chest as the adrenaline of the moment died down. And then, once it did, his stomach began to churn. He suddenly didn't feel very well. Bile started rising up his throat, and he had barely any time to react, collapsing to his knees as he emptied his stomach's contents into the grass. "Arthur!"

He was still heaving as they convened around him, asking questions of concern he couldn't particularly answer right now. "Arthur, Arthur, are you okay?" Bessie had said, but it was lost in between the vomiting and the concern also coming from Hosea and Dutch.

There were hands on his shaking shoulders as Arthur heaved the rest of whatever was in his stomach onto the earth, his throat feeling burned. He coughed and wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, muttered 'I'm okay'. Which thankfully made them all give him a little space that he didn't know he needed until now. 

He stood shakily to his feet, looked over at the body of the man he'd shot. "Are you alright, son?" Dutch asked, looking him over. "Didn't get hit, did ya?"

Arthur shook his head, swallowed as he said, "I, I killed him."

"Yeah, yeah, you did," Dutch replied breathily. Arthur looked at him for a moment, then back to the dead body. "Good work, Arthur."

Normally, he enjoyed getting a pat on the back, but this was... this was different. He wasn't being praised for finishing all his chores or reading a really big word on his own, he was being praised for killing a man. Arthur reholstered his gun as the churning in his stomach came back, turned on his heel and headed to his tent without another word.

He didn't get any more sleep that night. By the light of an oil lantern, until the sun started showing its face for the day, Arthur drew in his journal in an attempt to ignore what he'd done. It didn't work.

It was around eight in the morning when anyone else was up for the day, and, unsurprisingly, it was Hosea. Arthur could hear the older man going about his morning routine over by the campfire from the confines of his tent. He shut his journal, threw it and the pencil in his satchel before pulling his boots on and stepping out into the day.

He sat at his usual place in front of the fire across from Hosea, who was enjoying a cup of coffee and listening to the sounds of birds chirping, as he did every morning. "Morning, Arthur." He greeted.

"Mornin', Hosea."

"You hungry?" The older man asked. "I was just about to make some breakfast."

Arthur shook his head. "No. I'm good, thanks." From where he was sitting, he could see bloodstains on the grass just a few feet away. The bodies of the men were no longer in sight, probably moved by Hosea and Dutch before they went back to bed for the night; Arthur could still picture the man there, lying dead in the grass with a hole in his head caused by the very same gun at his hip. Needless to say, his appetite was gone.

Hosea didn't say anything in reply, just started working on cooking a piece of meat over the fire. Arthur stood back up, wanting to occupy his mind somehow. "I'm gonna get to work on my chores."

"Okay, son," Hosea replied, and Arthur went off to work.

He got water from the river, chopped firewood, fed the horses, and cleaned up camp in seemingly no time; checking his pocket watch, it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. Arthur went about finding more things to do, brushed the horses down, and debated whether or not he could stand to touch his gun to clean it. He decided he couldn't.

All the while, the only thing Arthur could think about was the men that had bushwhacked them last night. The first man's death wasn't his doing; it was either Dutch or Hosea's bullet that had done him in. The second man, though, was his work. And it made him feel sick all over again.

He'd  _ killed _ someone. Sure, the man seemed content to kill them, as well, seemed more than happy to stick a gun to Bessie's head, but... it didn't stop Arthur from feeling disgusted with himself. Justified or not, he was a murderer, and there wasn't any way around it. The part that scared him the most was the thought of ending up like his father, killing and robbing anyone he saw just for the hell of it. 

"Arthur?" Hosea's voice brought Arthur back into reality, and he turned his head over his shoulder to look at the older man. "You still working?"

"No."

"Wanna go for a ride?"

Arthur considered the question for a moment, before nodding. 

Five minutes later, they were out on the trails. It was still warm today, but not as warm as it had been. September was here, and with it, it would bring autumn soon enough. The leaves would change colors, the grass would turn brown, and then most of the animals would go into hiding for the winter. The flowers were already starting to wither, sensing their time here this year was nearly done. He and Hosea rode in silence, not a word exchanged between either of them. 

They dismounted at a different part of the river they were camped near, and Arthur followed Hosea's lead in hitching the horses to a tree. He felt numb as he pulled a carrot out of his satchel and fed it to Charlie, didn't even find the tickle on his palm from the gelding's lips funny right now. He gave Charlie a few pats, before walking over to Hosea and sitting on a log next to him. 

"You alright, son?" Hosea then asked quietly, looking him in the eyes. Arthur ducked his head, wished he'd remembered to put his hat on this morning so the brim could block his face. Hosea always seemed to know when something was wrong.

"No." He answered honestly, because lying to Hosea never worked, anyway. The older man was too smart. "I killed that man, Hosea."

"You saved all of us in doing so," Hosea replied. Hesitated, before continuing, "I know how you're feeling, Arthur."

"No, you don't," Arthur muttered, even knowing it was a load of bull.

And Hosea called him out on it like he always did. "Yes, I do." He said firmly, but patiently. "It's okay to feel bad about killing someone. Even if that someone was trying to hurt us."

Arthur shrugged, said, "How much good am I gonna be savin' us again if even killin' one person has me... like this?" He scuffed his boot at the ground. "How am I ever gonna expect to come on a job with you 'nd Dutch, with the law firin' at us, if I can't even kill one man without feelin' like shit?"

Hosea sighed, shrugged himself before saying, "Killing is a necessary evil, Arthur. I don't like it, Dutch doesn't, neither, and you obviously never will."  _ Unless I end up like my daddy _ , Arthur thought for the hundredth time today already. "But, it is necessary for survival. Folks try to kill other folks, and there's nothin' we can do about it except take them out before they can us. I wish I had something better to tell ya, but, this is the way the world is."

"Well, then, the world sucks." Arthur mumbled, scuffing at the dirt with his boot again in frustration, vainly hoping it would make him stop feeling so goddamn horrible about the 'necessary evil' he had to commit last night.

"It does." Hosea agreed. He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, which made him look up from the ground. "Thank you, for saving my darling Bessie. I'm proud of you, for stepping up while the rest of us were down for the count. If you hadn't been there, things could have gone a lot worse for us."

"You shouldn't thank me," Arthur replied. "I'm the one that started that whole mess, in the first place; I fired the first shot. I just- I saw Dutch without his guns, and Bessie on the ground, and I panicked-"

"And that's alright, too." Hosea cut him off before he could spiral down any further. "It's okay to be scared, Arthur. Dutch's silver tongue wasn't gonna get us out of that one, the only response that would have worked, in that instance, was violence."

Arthur took that to heart, as he did with most everything that came out of Hosea's mouth. "Okay." He conceded because Hosea was more than likely right. "I... I think we should set up watch, around camp. Rotate between you, me, and Dutch keepin' a lookout for any shady figures, so if this happens again, we won't get caught unaware."

"That's a good idea, Arthur," Hosea said, patting him on the back. "You should talk to Dutch about that when we get back to camp."

"I also think Bessie should have a gun." He said, and that seemed to catch Hosea by surprise a little. "So she can protect herself if the rest of us are unarmed."

"... She ain't gonna like that idea, but..." Hosea sighed. "You're right. Things might've gone over a bit better last night if she hadn't been defenseless. And this town we're by, Tripoly, it's even more dangerous than Crestville. She should be able to protect herself." He paused. "That being said, I don't want you goin' into town by yourself. Those clowns we dealt with last night, The Johnson Gang, they're rotten to their core. I heard they got thirty or more men riding with them, those two last night was just a taste."

"Okay."

"Good lad." Hosea praised him, gave him another pat on the back before standing. "You feelin' any better?"

"A little," Arthur answered as honestly as he could. He still felt like shit, but Hosea's wisdom had quelled his nerves a bit, made it slightly easier to deal with what he was feeling. So did the idea of an extra gun around camp and a guard always on watch.

"We should get heading back, then," Hosea said. Arthur stood, followed the older man to their horses and unhitched Charlie before mounting him, while Hosea got on Onyx. "We don't wanna keep them waiting."

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

Arthur hitched Charlie up at the horse station just outside of camp when they got back, gave him an apple and a few pats before walking with Hosea over to the campfire, where Dutch and Bessie sat. "Ah, we were wonderin' where you boys were," Dutch said. 

"We went for a little ride, while the weather's still okay," Hosea explained as he and Arthur joined Dutch and Bessie. "Arthur's got a couple ideas to better our security 'round here."

"That so?" Dutch asked, sounding interested. He looked at Arthur. "Let us hear it, then, son."

"I think we should set up watch." He told Dutch like he'd already told Hosea. "Rotate between you, me, and Hosea, so if this happens again, we're a bit better prepared."

Dutch had a smile on his face as he said, "That is a great idea, Arthur."

"I also think Bessie should have a gun."

Bessie, sat across from him, was visibly surprised at that, said, "What?"

"Things might have gone a bit better last night if you hadn't been defenseless." Hosea reasoned with her. "Arthur's right. We should all be armed, in case something like this happens again."

"Well..." She trailed off and then sighed. "I don't like it one bit, but... it'll be safer."

Hosea nodded, said, "I should go to the gunsmith in Tripoly, then." As he stood back up from where he'd been sat next to her. He leaned down and gave her a kiss. "I'll be back before noon."

"Be safe, dear."

"Of course," Hosea replied, before walking back over to the horses. He mounted Onyx, and was off, disappearing over the hills.

"You finish all your chores this morning, Arthur?" Dutch asked as soon as Hosea was out of sight.

"Yeah."

"Alright, then we should practice your writing some more."

Arthur sighed, pulled his journal and pencil out, doing as he was told.

When Hosea returned a bit before noon, he told Dutch he and Bessie were gonna go out to practice her shooting. They left, and then it was just Arthur and Dutch behind at camp.

"You okay there, son?" Dutch asked after Arthur started nodding off.

"I'm fine," Arthur answered. "Didn't get much sleep." Didn't get any sleep, really. They'd gone to bed at ten and were woken up by three in the morning. And then he hadn't slept at all after that.

"Yeah, you seemed pretty shaken up last night," Dutch replied. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Arthur replied again, even though it was a lie. There was still a dark cloud hanging over his thoughts, thinking up the worst possible scenarios. Bessie getting shot, Hosea and Dutch being killed because they were unarmed. What would the man have done to him, if he'd taken everyone else from him? Would he have finished Arthur off as well, or left him there to rot, all alone in the world with no one to turn to again? How long would he have been able to take care of himself?  _ Would _ he have been able to take care of himself at all?

Probably not. And yet, still, he couldn't help but feel horrible, knowing what he'd done, knowing he'd taken someone's life. Hosea said that there wasn't any way around the situation, that Dutch wouldn't have been able to talk them out of it, that it was a necessary evil, and he was probably right because Hosea usually was. But out of the words, 'necessary evil', the only word Arthur's brain chose to register was the 'evil' part.

And there was still the darkest thought of all, the thought of ending up like his father. A ruthless murderer, killing for no reason. How many times had Arthur seen his daddy walk in the door late at night, covered in blood? How many horror stories had his father told him about his victims, how they begged and pleaded for their lives before Lyle Morgan responded by putting a bullet in their brains? How many innocent people were destroyed by his father's actions? How was Arthur supposed to be any better?

As usual, his attempts to ignore his own thoughts were futile.

When Hosea and Bessie had returned, Hosea told of his wife's skill with a gun. "She's actually a really great shot."

"That's good," Dutch said in reply. "No use in havin' another gun 'round camp, if she couldn't even use it."

Despite having not eaten since last night, Arthur still wasn't very hungry when it was dinner time. He ate, anyway, not wanting the others to worry about him like they'd already been doing all day. Then it was time for bed, and he was actually grateful for once that it was.

That is until he fell asleep.

Arthur wasn't a stranger to having bad dreams, hell, he was more familiar with them than most. He'd been having nightmares just about all his life. He hadn't had one for a while now. When his mother was still alive, she'd comfort him back to sleep, sometimes stay with him through the night. When his father was still alive, he'd tell Arthur to get over himself, that he wasn't a baby and there was nothing to be afraid of. Neither of them was around to do either.

He looked around, wishing he hadn't when he saw Dutch, Hosea, and Bessie's bodies lying on the ground, blood pooling around their heads that all had bullet holes in them. His heart was beating in his chest and he couldn't seem to breathe before there was a rustling in the nearby shrubbery. "Wh-who's there?" Arthur asked, voice wavering. He pulled his gun from his holster, backed away as he said, "I'm armed, so, don't mess with me!"

It was the coyote. It had scars and blood dried to its mangy fur, and it looked even more terrifying and hungry than it had the first time it got a hold of him. It also looked much bigger. Which made no sense, because he  _ had _ killed it, watched the life drain out of it that night Dutch and Hosea had taken him in. Arthur aimed at it, pulled back the hammer before squeezing the trigger- the gun didn't go off, and the coyote was growling now, slowly approaching him as it bared its razor-sharp teeth. Arthur tried, again and again, to shoot at it, but the gun just kept clicking. No ammo, it would seem, despite the fact he knew he'd reloaded it recently. He tossed it to the ground and pulled his knife out instead, but discovered the only part left of it was the hilt. No blade.

He was defenseless. Arthur panicked even more as the hilt slipped from his grip, onto the ground with the equally useless gun. He didn't even have time to register just how fucked he was before the coyote was lunging at him, knocking him to the ground and any breath he had out of his lungs. It clawed at his chest and face, and Arthur yelled as loudly as he could for help. No one came to his aid. 

He punched it in the snout, but the coyote wasn't even bothered by it. Regained its composure without any sign of ever even having lost it, before tearing into Arthur's arm with its teeth. He kicked and struggled against it, kept yelling for help and from the pain until his throat was raw from the screaming. The coyote only ceased its ruthless attack on him to stare directly into his eyes with a look of hate, drool slipping from its mouth onto Arthur's face as he braced himself. It snapped its teeth at him and snarled, before sinking its teeth into his neck.

Arthur woke up struggling to breathe, scrabbling at his neck with his hands as his heartbeat loud enough for him to hear. When he didn't feel any pain or the warmth of his own blood dripping down his skin, Arthur began to breathe a little easier, if only just. 

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, remembering the sight of Hosea, Dutch, and Bessie's lifeless corpses at his feet, holes in their heads and blood pooling around them. His eyes stung as tears welled up in them, and it still felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't think as they spilled down his cheeks. 

He cried quietly until he was too tired to, and then went back to bed.


	6. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests.

Every night after the incident, Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur rotated between keeping a lookout, making sure they didn't get any more unexpected, unwelcomed guests.  


Hosea took the first watch, from the time they'd go to bed for the night until about one in the morning; then, he'd wake Dutch, and the younger man would rotate out with him. Arthur was last in line and had the early hours when the sun was just beginning to peek over the mountains. Everything had been peaceful since that night, but they kept their eyes peeled, anyway. Best not to get complacent.

  
Dutch and Hosea were talking about a train robbery. Some train carrying rich tourists from England getting a glance of the New World. Arthur figured they probably wouldn't stay in America too much longer after Hosea and Dutch cleaned them out of pocket. While they were plotting that, Arthur went about his usual days; chores, practicing his reading and writing, doodling, and spending a whole lot of time in between trying to find something to quell his restlessness. He hated being idle, found himself with too much day left when he'd finished all that needed to be done. There wasn't much to do around camp, and Arthur began to find staying there for days at a time claustrophobic.  


Hosea, thankfully, saved him. "Hey, Arthur."  


Arthur looked up from his journal. "Yeah?"  


"You wanna learn how to fish?" The older man asked, holding up two fishing poles for emphasis.  


Arthur shrugged. "Sure."  


They didn't take their horses and instead decided to walk to the fishing spot, just a bit a ways down the same river they were camped near. "Ain't it gettin' too cold out for fish?" Arthur asked, remembering the bath he'd taken just yesterday evening in the river. The water had been so cold that all the hairs on his body had stood on end, and his skin was riddled with goosebumps.

  
"Not quite yet," Hosea replied. "Although, some species of fish don't mind the cold whatsoever."

  
"Hm." Arthur hummed, not having anything to add.

  
As soon as they reached the spot, Hosea was quick in getting to teaching him. "Hold the pole with both hands, like this," Hosea said as he held out his fishing rod in front of him; Arthur followed suit. "Good, now swing it up over your shoulder."

  
"Like this?" Arthur asked, copying Hosea's movement as precisely as he could.

  
"Yes, like that," Hosea replied. "And then you cast the line like this," He said, swinging the rod back down towards the water. The line, along with the lure at the end, went sailing through the sky, before landing in the water a bits away. Arthur followed by example and watched his line soon join Hosea's in the water. "Good work, Arthur."

  
"Now what?" Arthur asked.

  
"Now, we wait," Hosea said. He sat on a rock, still gripping his reel as he began slowly reeling it in. "Reel your line in slowly, so it looks like a little fish swimmin' through the water." Arthur wordlessly obeyed. 

  
Five minutes of sitting around and slowly reeling in his line later, Arthur heaved a sigh, said, "Fishing is boring."

  
"Most important skills are." Hosea shrugged. "Fishing will keep ya fed."

  
"So would huntin'. 'Least you're actually doin' somethin'."

  
"Well, I'm sorry I felt the need to teach you this while the weather is still nice," Hosea said sarcastically, with no bite behind it, if the smile on his lips was any sign.

  
Arthur sighed again. "Yeah. Winter'll be here soon enough."

  
"Here's to hoping it's a mild one."

  
"Probably won't be," Arthur replied. "I remember last winter, it was miserably cold." Could remember so bitterly clear. Lyle Morgan had come stumbling in the door one night long after midnight, drunk, angry, and covered in blood. But, then, that was almost every night, up 'til he died. Yelled and slurred some profane things at Arthur, that Arthur tried shrugging off. When his daddy caught wind that Arthur was ignoring him, he cranked up his antagonizing, got Arthur to spit one snide comment back, and then kicked him out of the house for the rest of the night while it was snowing. His only saving grace was the fact that he'd been dressed warmly before being thrown out since their home wasn't much better than outside- save for the lack of snow. Arthur had to huddle up on the porch 'til well after noon when the fucker finally came bursting out the door, ready for another day of debauchery and murder. All he did was glare at Arthur before leaving their door unlocked, and walking towards his horse. Arthur watched him take off from inside their house, made sure to send a pointed look of hate his way that Lyle never even noticed because he was gone that fast.

  
"I'm a warm-weather creature, as well," Hosea replied, bringing Arthur back to reality. "Never much liked the colder months. Ain't much to be looking forward to, 'til spring and summer. And then autumn ain't so great, 'cuz you know it means winter's right back 'round the bend again."

  
"Yeah." Arthur agreed. He remembered another time, when he was a bit younger- ten, eleven, somewhere around that- Christmases had already long been dead around their household without mama around, but this particular year, Arthur had foolishly convinced himself it would be different, that they'd go out, get a tree, decorate it, and things would be back to normal. He had wanted so desperately for that to be true, for things to go back to the way they were, that he was actually surprised when it never happened. December stretched on, and he should have known better, his father not treating him any better than he usually had. No tree, no decorations, no warmth or sign of any kind of holiday cheer around their home and lives. 

  
He'd told his father that he was confused, because, why weren't they celebrating Christmas? And Lyle laughed in his face, like the very idea of such a thing was a big joke to him. The closest thing to any kind of acknowledgment his father gave him that year was giving him a dollar bill a couple days after the holiday had already passed. He made sure to tell Arthur not to spend it foolishly because Lyle Morgan had never had any issue calling his son a dullard right to his face.

  
And Arthur was so upset with everything that he'd tried to run away, but he didn't even make it out there for five hours without turning tail and running back to their home, with his warm clothes and bed. And daddy had never even been the wiser because he'd been gone from the house longer than him that day. So, it was pointless.

  
A good deal of the bad memories Arthur had gathered that centered around his daddy took place in winter. Lyle Morgan's soul seemed to freeze over faster than usual during the cold months, getting worse and worse every year. Getting farther every day from the man he'd been in the very few good memories Arthur had left. 

  
Fishing sucked, Arthur reckoned, because just like the things he did at camp, there wasn't enough work to be done for him to be able to shut his thoughts out. Slowly reeling in the line was repetitive enough of a task that he was doing it without having to waste thought on it, which meant his brain decided to go a million miles a minute on every other topic in the world it could think of. And, when left to its own devices, his brain always picked the most depressing topics. Fun. 

  
He was still hung up over it, was the issue. No matter how pleasant life seemed now, or the fact that his father had been dead for months, Arthur couldn't just bury the past seven or so years of his life. Even still, he was constantly reminded of his life before Hosea, Dutch, and Bessie, and with the reminders came perpetually spiraling thoughts.   
Looking back, it was foolish of him to think he'd ever really, truly move on.

  
The days were starting to become shorter now, so the sun was setting only a couple hours after they started fishing- Hosea caught a couple decently sized fish, while Arthur caught one really small one, which really miffed him. Didn't matter, he preferred hunting, anyway. Of course, he'd never brought it up to Hosea, because the older man would more than likely start lecturing him over the importance of something or other; and the worst part would be that he'd be right. Hosea was always right.   
And, as he figured on their ride back, Dutch was quick to rib at Arthur for the small fish he caught, said it was a tiddler, and that Arthur clearly wasn't a fisher of men. Arthur didn't have anything witty to retort, so he kept his trap shut while his cheeks flushed red from embarrassment. He was only a little less embarrassed at dinner, when, surprisingly, the tiddler he caught was enough to fill his gut. So, it wasn't a complete waste of a trip. 

  
And, after Hosea opened up the conversation around the fire a little, Bessie looked over at Arthur with a curious look, said, "How about you tell a story, Arthur?"

  
Thankfully, Arthur wasn't eating anymore, or he might've choked in surprise. Looked at her bewildered and asked, "What?"

  
"We still don't know all that much about you, and you've been with us..." She paused, "What, three months now?"

  
"I'm a bit curious myself," Dutch said as he leaned forward, looked at Arthur as well. All eyes were on him now, and Arthur could feel the scrutiny of it all, felt his shoulders hunch a little defensively at all the interrogation. He looked over at Hosea, hoping he could change the topic. Yet, even though Hosea knew him best, the older man looked curious as well. Arthur hadn't told him all that much, after all. 

  
"Uh, well..." Arthur averted his gaze from all the eyes on him, tilted his head down so they couldn't see his face beneath the brim of his father's hat. He shrugged, tried to even out his voice as he said, "Not much to say. Y'all already know my mama died when I was young, and that my father was an outlaw." More like a downright villain, Arthur thought. "There ain't really nothin' to say past that. I spent most my time doing dumb kid stuff. Drawin' pictures, askin' foolish questions, lookin' for bugs under logs. Y'know."

  
And the conversation died there. Arthur didn't give them anything to work with, nothing to build around, and so it was dropped. He was quick to go to his tent when Dutch announced it was bedtime that night.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Things were going pretty well for them right now.

  
Winter was here. The leaves on the trees had fallen to the ground, the sunset much earlier, and taking baths in the river wasn't an option anymore unless you wanted hypothermia or pneumonia in no time flat. 

  
Although Arthur had thought one of those to be his fate back in June, it wasn't an issue. Dutch had bought him a brand new coat, they were in an abandoned house with a fireplace, and they went into town to the hotel for baths. Arthur had almost forgotten how nice hot baths were, and he stayed in the tub until the heat left the water entirely. He felt human again afterward, pulling some clean clothes over his also clean self. 

  
He and Hosea went hunting often, and the fact that it was cold meant they could store a good deal of food in the cellar for a decent amount of time. The warm meals also did wonders for Arthur's morale, feeling and tasting a lot more satisfying than they had back in summer. 

  
But, that was where the good stuff died. He'd been dreading what the winter would bring ever since the first leaves started falling back in October. Arthur knew that the cold weather would mean they'd have to find sturdier shelter than their tents, and it seemed like Hosea and Dutch had been wordlessly on the same page as him since they moved into this abandoned cabin near the end of that same month. At first, there was plenty to occupy his mind with; helping Hosea and Dutch bring their things into the house, anything they didn't need packed away in an extra storage room. Then, he and Dutch chopped firewood for nearly two weeks straight, since when the snow started coming, any suitable logs for burning would be too wet to do so, would have to dry out completely unless they wanted a smoke signal like Arthur'd been stuck with those few weeks on his own. And he already knew from experience that smoke signals didn't have enough heat to ward off colder summer nights, much less winter ones. 

  
But, once all the prep for winter was done, and they had all that they needed, Arthur was stuck inside. The only time he got to leave the cabin was when he was hunting with Hosea, going to town for a bath, or taking guard duty on the front porch with the early morning air chilling him. It was worse than being idle at camp because at least at camp, there'd been a firepit outside, things to look around at, warmth and life all around him. Now, there was just snow, dead trees, and bitter winds.   
And idleness. All of Arthur's chores were either the same, easier or entirely moot; getting water was as simple as setting foot outside and scooping up a bucket of snow, then setting it inside near the fire to thaw. Feeding the horses was much the same, and that was already easy, to begin with. They didn't need firewood, they'd already chopped all they would need until the spring. It left Arthur with little to do, besides drawing, write in his journal, and pace around the cabin, looking for something to occupy his thoughts. Easier said than done.

  
The winter months dragged on seemingly forever, to the point where Arthur found it agonizing. Day in, day out, all he could do was sit around and wait for spring. He was getting better at reading, writing, and drawing, and Hosea had taught him to skin bigger animals, which he was pretty good at as well. He wasn't getting much better at the hunting itself, seldom getting a clean kill with only one arrow or bullet, but he managed, for the most part. 

  
Being stuck inside most of the time, Arthur spent a lot of it learning about Hosea, Dutch, and Bessie. Storytime was already common amongst them, but with everyone being cooped up indoors, it became nearly necessary to strike up a conversation at any given opportunity.

  
Learning about his new family was great, but Arthur nearly cried tears of joy when March came around, and the snow started melting and not coming back. During his guard duty shift in the early hours of the morning, Arthur could start feeling a difference in the weather almost as soon as it began. Before he knew it, the days were growing warmer, the sun was rising earlier, and Hosea and Dutch soon announced they'd be moving again, going back to camping outside. 

  
The spot Hosea chose was beautiful, on a cliff overlooking a valley just outside the local town, which he said was called Riverton. He also said that this area was a lot more peaceful than places they'd been previously, very quiet as far as crime went. Only one rival gang around, but nowhere near as big as the bunch they'd left behind in Tripoly, nowhere near as menacing, neither. All in all, a perfect place for them. 

  
However, after spending the first few days being happy he wasn't cooped up in that goddamn cabin anymore, Arthur still found himself restless. He'd sketched all the sights there were to see from their camp, did all his chores, so on and so forth, and was right back to feeling boxed in. So, he did something that, looking back, was foolish. 

  
"Hey, Dutch?"

  
Dutch and Hosea were looking at a map, talking about an upcoming robbery- a stagecoach, carrying precious cargo. Dutch looked up from the map, said, "Yes, Arthur?"  
"Can I go out for a ride?" Arthur asked, not particularly liking how Dutch's expression shifted, eyebrow raising in question and eyes narrowing a little. He felt his shoulders hunch a little under the scrutiny. 

  
"What, by yourself?" Dutch asked. "That don't sound like the best idea, Arthur. You should wait 'til me and Hosea are done here, he'll take you out."

  
Arthur sighed, shoulders dropping as he replied, "Come on, Dutch, I haven't been out proper since before winter. I can handle myself."

  
Dutch seemed to consider it for a moment before he looked to Hosea. "What do you think, Hosea?"

  
And Hosea seemed to consider it far more carefully than Dutch did because that was his job; thinking for the lot of them. "Well... Things are quieter in this area." He said, paused as he thought it out more. "And he should learn some independence, God forbid anything ever happens to us."

  
"He's only a boy," Dutch replied, and Arthur wanted to roll his eyes. Just because he was only fifteen, didn't mean he was a little kid.

  
"Come on." He begged them again. "'M never gonna be able to handle myself if you don't even let me try."

Though, he wasn't planning on 'handling himself', anyway. Arthur just wanted to go out for a ride; nothing more, nothing less. There was nothing to handle. 

  
Or, so he thought.

  
Hosea sighed in defeat, said, "Alright, but you better be back before sundown."

  
"I will." Arthur agreed, a grin stretching across his face at the prospect of being allowed out of camp by himself. 

  
"Go on, then," Hosea said, and Arthur didn't waste any time in turning on his heel and running over to Charlie. "Be safe!"

  
Arthur pulled himself up into the saddle and was off.

  
This early in the spring, there was still a chill on the wind, the leaves hadn't grown back on the trees, the flowers hadn't yet had the chance to bloom, and the grass was still dead; but, the warmth of the sun was back, and the snow and ice were gone. Arthur was barely out of camp for five seconds before he was already feeling a lot less boxed in.

  
He rode for a little while longer, before pulling out his map. Dutch had given it to him a little while ago, pointed out the area they were in when they set up camp last week. There wasn't much around, save for the nearby town of Riverton. 

  
Well, he hadn't seen the town yet, and he had some money. So, Arthur rode towards Riverton. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing in this chapter is weird. I didn't wanna write winter, but I didn't want to skip over it entirely, either.  
From this point on, I'll probably skip over the winter months unless it's important to the plot.  
I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, boring as it is. Sorry updates haven't been coming out. I've recently started sharing a room with my younger sister, and she makes it very difficult to write. :/  
If you haven't already, please leave a kudos and a comment! If you wanna get notified when this story updates, please consider subscribing to it. The notifications will show up in your email.  
Thank you!


	7. Like a Lucky Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur nearly dies again, gets another kill under his belt and learns to fight, which ends up being a useful skill when he sees an innocent creature getting pushed around.

In all honesty, Arthur should have seen something like this coming. But, he'd had no idea at the time that he attracted bad luck like flies to rot.  
  
Everything had been quiet. He'd been enjoying the alone time something fierce, found that being out on the open roads with no one besides him and Charlie was soothing. Even though he was mostly idle, what with Charlie doing all the work, his thoughts shut up for once.  
  
Of course, the soothing feeling was gone as soon as he reached town, but it was only replaced with simple distaste. Nothing to worry about, so far. He hated how crowded the general store was, despised how loud people could be when they were crammed together in one small area. He was quick in getting out of town like he'd been going in.   
  
Only problem, there was someone following him.   
  
At first, Arthur didn't think anything of it; he was on the main road, and there were lots of homesteads just outside of town, so for all he knew, the man riding not too far behind him was just going home after a shopping trip, or picking up the mail. Something like that. But, even once Arthur had picked up speed, had gone to the backroads, getting further and further away from civilization, the man was still following him.  
  
So, he pushed Charlie into a full gallop, and as if to confirm his suspicions even further, the man chased after him.  
  
Arthur's heart was pounding in his chest now as he forced himself to come up with some kind of escape plan; the quickest thing to come to him was going through the trees, so he yanked on Charlie's reins, and they went off into the treeline. The man followed. Arthur couldn't keep his eyes in front of him, looking back now and then just to see the man closer and closer with an agitated look on his face.   
  
And, because he wasn't looking where they were going, Charlie tripped over a rock, which sent Arthur flying to the ground.   
  
It took Arthur a few moments to recollect himself and clear his vision, and once he sat up, he could hear horse hooves growing louder near him, looked up to find the man already dismounting, walking over and pulling a gun from his hip.  
  
I'm going to die, he thought again for not even close to the last time in his life. Come to think of it, it only became more common of a thought.  
  
He tried to scramble away, boots scuffing the dirt as his back was eventually pinned against the same rock Charlie had tripped over; who, by the way, had run off. Arthur felt his breath hitch in his throat as the man towered over him, pointed the revolver at his head. "Give me all your stuff." He demanded in a gruff voice.  
  
"N-No." Arthur denied. His face soured with false bravado. "Go fuck yourself."  
  
The man didn't seem to like this answer, cocking back the hammer of his gun in response as an uglier sneer than the one he'd already been donning took over. Growled, more than said, "I weren't askin', boy, I was tellin'. Give me all your shit, or I'll kill ya."  
  
Arthur didn't know what to do. He wasn't about to give his stuff to this man, all of his valuables had been bought by Dutch or Hosea, and he already didn't like that they'd spent so much money on him. He wasn't just about to give it all away. If he didn't, though-  
  
Well, he spent so much time thinking about it that the man grew impatient, fired a warning shot that just barely passed Arthur's head. Arthur, scared as he was, foolishly snapped back, "Fuck you."  
  
The man didn't like that. He holstered his gun, cracked his knuckles and said, "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way, then."  
  
A familiar pain bloomed across Arthur's face as the man swung his fist, knuckles colliding with the bridge of his nose and making a sickening crack. The man was pinning Arthur down with his full weight now, threw a few more punches before wrapping his hands around Arthur's neck. Arthur kicked and struggled against his attacker, gasping for air that his lungs weren't allowed to have.  
  
However, the man hadn't disarmed him, so as soon as Arthur realized he wasn't gonna get out of this any other way, he drew his gun, pulled back the hammer, and quickly aimed it at the man's head.  
  
BANG!  
  
There was a ringing in Arthur's ears as blood and brain matter splattered his face, and the hands around his neck went limp. He gasped for breath, coughing when his throat felt raw.  
  
As the ringing died down, and his lungs weren't crying for oxygen anymore, Arthur kicked the dead man away, collecting himself with shaky breaths. He expected guilt to flood over him any moment now, but the longer he sat there trying to get his bearings, the more glaringly obvious it was that the soul-crushing feeling he'd felt the first time he'd taken someone's life was strangely absent.  
  
So, he stood on wobbly legs, grabbed his hat, holstered his gun and whistled for Charlie as he started heading towards the nearby stream.   
  
The water from the stream was still cold, and unpleasant to wash up with, but he wasn't about to ride back home with his face covered in blood; the shirt he was wearing was already gonna be ruined. Charlie drank just up-stream from him as he scrubbed as much of the blood off as he could, seeing the black and blue bruises on his face beneath from the beating that man had given him. Looking at his reflection in the stream, his nose was crooked, and Arthur felt tears sting his eyes as he tried to push it back into position. Which, ended up being a lot more painful than the punch that had knocked it out of place, to begin with.   
  
Arthur looked up at the sky, realizing the sun would set soon, but he couldn't head back to camp just yet. He was still a bit shaken, despite the fact he was handling this better than the first time.  
  
The fact that he was taking it better was confusing, so any hope of collecting himself went right out the window as soon as that crossed his mind. And, once it did, Arthur mounted up, started riding back to camp as he shut his thoughts out. He spent the first few minutes lost, not knowing what direction he'd come from or gone, but soon he saw smoke billowing into the sky from on top of a cliff. He was careful in navigating his way up the narrow path that led to their campsite.  
  
"He should have been back by now." He heard Bessie say before he ever even reached the hitching post.  
  
"Maybe we should go looking for him." Hosea then said.  
  
It was Dutch who spotted Arthur first as he rode through the tree line and towards the horse station. "No need for that, here he is." And the relieved smile on his face soon vanished, as Arthur's wounds must've come into view. "Arthur!"  
  
They rushed over to him as Arthur was tying Charlie to his post, Bessie immediately taking his face in her hands and looking over the injuries. "What the hell happened to you, son?" Hosea asked, all of them wearing expressions of concern.  
  
"I nearly got robbed," Arthur replied, not liking how calm about this he still was. He felt something, sure, he wasn't entirely numb, but it felt buried; unlike the first time he'd had to kill.   
  
"Where'd the man who did this go?" Hosea asked, looking ready to mount his horse at a moment's notice to go look for him. Arthur shook his head.  
  
"He ain't here no more." He answered.   
  
"I told you that it wasn't a good idea for you to go out there alone," Dutch said, looking annoyed, but not at Arthur directly. Maybe at himself? Who could say?  
  
Arthur merely shrugged, said, "I handled myself, didn't I?"  
  
"Looks more to me that you got dumb lucky."  
  
That remark made Arthur duck his head and avert his gaze from Dutch entirely. "Yeah." He mumbled in agreement, as much as he hated being wrong right now. He probably wouldn't be allowed out on his own anymore after this, which meant waiting around while Dutch and Hosea plotted schemes together until one of them was available to take him out.  
  
"Mrs. Matthews," Dutch looked to Bessie, "Please take care of the boy's injuries while Mr. Matthews and I discuss how to move forward from here."  
  
Bessie nodded, and Dutch and Hosea walked away. "Come on, honey." She said, ushering him towards the campfire. "Have a seat while I go get some medical supplies."  
  
Arthur did as he was told, and soon Bessie kneeled in front of him, a rag in one hand, and a small bottle of alcohol in the other. "This is going to sting." She said, but when she pressed the liquor-soaked rag to his face, he barely even flinched. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"  
  
"No." He replied. She only nodded, continuing to clean the wounds out. "He didn't get far."  
  
Got far enough for his face to be burning and throbbing as Bessie kept cleaning him up, but he didn't mention that to her. "Your nose looks like it's broken."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Did you try to set it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She made a 'hm' noise. "I don't think you did it right." _Of course not,_ he thought. It'd be convenient for him to fix his broken face the first try. "I'm gonna have to fix this for you. It's gonna hurt."  
  
"I know."  
  
With that said, she inspected it for a moment, warned him, and then pushed his nose back into place- still just as painful as when he had to do it, and it made him cringe more than the alcohol on his busted up face. "Sorry, sorry." She apologized quickly.  
  
"'S alright."  
  
Arthur could hear Hosea and Dutch's conversation from the other side of camp as silence fell between him and Bessie. "Sometimes, things like this happen. We couldn't have known." Hosea had said, sounding calm as ever with only the slightest undertone of concern.  
  
"He looks like he only just escaped with his life, Hosea," Dutch replied, and he sounded a lot more strung up about this than the older man.  
  
He didn't like the direction this conversation was going, so he tuned it back out.  
  
By the time Bessie was done tending to his injuries, Hosea and Dutch were walking back over, conversating about whose turn it was to make dinner as if nothing had happened. Of course, as soon as their food was done, and they were digging in, that's when it was brought up.  
  
"Arthur, we're gonna have to teach you how to fight."  
  
He looked up from the piece of cooked rabbit he'd been chewing directly at Dutch, who gave him that look that said 'you don't have a choice in the matter'. The same look he used when Arthur was trying to avoid his reading and writing, or his chores. So, Arthur sighed, said, "Fine."  
  
The next morning, as Arthur was finishing up feeding the horses, Dutch strode over to him, waited for him to set down the last hay bale before he said, "You remember I said you were learning to fight today?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Lessons begin in ten minutes. Go take a sit down, get some water."  
  
And, knowing that he didn't have a choice, Arthur did as he was told. And, ten minutes later, he ended up back on his feet, standing in front of Dutch as Hosea and Bessie watched on.  
  
"Alright, son, first I wanna see where you're at. Throw a punch."  
  
Arthur blinked. "What, like, at you?"  
  
"Yes, at me," Dutch replied as if it weren't obvious.  
  
"I don't wanna hit you."  
  
"Arthur, no offense, but I don't much care what you want right now, son." Dutch crossed his arms against his chest. "It's either learn to fight, or I ain't lettin' you go out on your own anymore."  
  
Arthur sighed, realizing, once again, that he didn't have any say in the matter. "Alright." He replied as Dutch stood wide open for him, ready for Arthur to throw a fist at him. Which, he did, and judging by the loud groan and the way his mentor stumbled back, Arthur had hit him a lot harder than he'd been trying.  
  
"You okay, there, Dutch?" Hosea asked through a hearty laugh, obviously entertained by the idea of Arthur nearly knocking the other man flat on his ass.  
  
"Yeah, peachy keen," Dutch replied, standing back up straight and nursing a new, nasty looking bruise on his face. "Looks like we got somethin' to work with here."  
  
"Jesus, Dutch, I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to hit ya so hard." Arthur stammered out.  
  
"No. No, this is a good thing." Dutch replied, and Arthur couldn't help the confusion on his face. "Think about it. If you hit anyone you don't like even half as hard as ya just decked me, they ain't gonna know what hit 'em. However," Of course, there was some kind of condition to it. And here, Arthur thought he was getting praise without a footnote. "Your stance needs some work. You hit hard, but you don't hit right. If I'd had any intention of fighting back, you left yourself wide open for me, son."  
  
"He did get ya good, though." Hosea threw in, and Arthur was thankful that at least Hosea rarely tried knocking him down a peg right after lifting him up.  
  
"That, he did." Dutch agreed.   
  
And for the next week or so, Arthur was stuck learning to fight. For at least an hour every day, he was taught how to throw a punch, how to block an attacker, how to break free of a chokehold, how to knock someone unconscious without killing them, and the like. And, by the end of the week, Dutch was nursing a couple bruises that Arthur almost couldn't believe he'd caused.  
  
Actually, it only started making sense when he took his next bath. As he was scrubbing up in the river, he noticed the muscles in his arms were a lot bigger than they had been when Dutch and Hosea had taken him in. No doubt, all the firewood chopping, water bucket hauling, and everything else he was required to do had helped in that.  
  
He got back his privileges to go out on his own again once Dutch had deemed him ready, but after spending so many days in a row throwing punches and still doing his chores, Arthur found he was too tired to go out on a ride to celebrate. So, instead, he sat around camp and drew in his journal.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Dutch and Hosea were out on a stagecoach robbery, and Arthur was feeling cooped up, so he decided to ride into town.  
  
Once again, being out on the open road made Arthur feel free. Out here, he didn't have to do chores, practice reading, and writing, or do anything that anyone told him. It was just him and Charlie.  
  
Spring was starting to take full effect all around him. The flowers were blooming, the sun was regaining the warmth it always seemed to lose in the winter, the trees were growing their leaves back. The world was teeming with life again.  
  
Of course, he enjoyed that stuff for all of five minutes, til he got to town and nature wasn't as prevalent around him. Arthur had no idea why he kept going back to town, but today, what would happen would make him glad he had.  
  
He's not sure what led him into Riverton in the first place, or what led him in the direction he ended up going. At the edge of town, behind the saloon, he heard snickering and bellowing voices, and after that, the sound of a dog yelping. Curious, Arthur rounded the corner, and the sight before him made his blood boil.  
  
A small gaggle of teenage boys around his age, four of them, stood in front of a cowering puppy that looked barely old enough to be away from its mother. The boys were kicking the puppy and laughing, whilst the little dog whimpered, tail tucked between its legs as it tried backing away from the attackers.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
The group of boys looked over his way, ceasing their attack on the poor little dog as they crossed their arms and sized him up. "What do you want, street rat?" The tallest boy asked. "Beat it, this ain't your business."  
  
"The hell are you kicking the dog for?" Arthur demanded loudly. "It didn't do nothin' to you!"  
  
"I said, beat it!" The tallest boy said again, put his hands against Arthur's chest and pushed him. Arthur struggled to keep his balance but did not leave.   
  
He felt a wave of unbridled anger take him over as he strode back over to them, and pushed the same boy back. The boy fell on his ass with an 'oof', before his frown grew even larger, and he yelled, "Get 'im!"  
  
And then Arthur was outnumbered, four to one. He caught many a fist to the face, and they managed to knock him down, but Arthur was fast in getting back up to his feet. He silently thanked Dutch as he managed to dodge another fist swinging towards his face, grabbed that particular boy's arm and twisted it before kicking him in the stomach. The boy dropped to the ground as one of the other kids tried his luck, leg swinging up to kick at Arthur. Arthur weaved out of the way as he was bombarded by attacks, catching a stray fist here or there but never wavering.   
  
The tallest boy seemed angriest and readiest to fight, always getting back up whenever Arthur knocked him to the ground. The rest of his buddies were lying on the ground, nursing their wounds, while their leader kept throwing punches at Arthur with a burning fury in his eyes.  
  
In the end, Arthur caught a few more punches to the face, felt blood gush from his nose and a scrape on his cheek, but the tallest boy soon ran out of fight, and Arthur was successful in swinging at him once more. His fist connected with the other boy's chin, sending the attacker flying to the ground. The group of boys all scrambled to their feet as their leader told them it was 'time to get the hell outta here!'. Arthur wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and dusted his clothes off. He was scraped up, sure, but he could handle that by now.   
  
As soon as the adrenaline wore off, he remembered the reason he fought those boys in the first place; the puppy. Looking around, he didn't see it at first, but soon spotted it under the back porch of the saloon, head poking out as it cowered and looked up at Arthur with big, golden-brown eyes. Arthur knelt down slowly, holding his hand out towards the puppy. "Hey there, it's okay." He said gently. "Those idiots ain't gonna hurt you anymore."  
  
The puppy backed up a little more, whimpering as it ducked its head, clearly still very scared, so Arthur had to think of a way to draw it out of hiding, to convince it that he wasn't going to hurt it. An idea came to him; he had some spending money leftover still. "Stay right here, I'll be back in a few." He told the puppy, even though it probably couldn't understand him, and also more than likely didn't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Arthur stood back to his feet and made his way to the general store down the street.   
  
The only thing Arthur really knew about dogs was that they ate meat, so as he walked out of the store a few minutes later with a few slabs of dried venison, he hoped it'd be enough to draw the little dog out of hiding. Behind the saloon again, he could see the puppy still hiding under the back porch. He knelt down again, made himself look as small as he could before reaching into his satchel slowly and pulling out a piece of dried venison. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." He said quietly, and the puppy looked curious, but still cautious. Arthur got a little closer to show the little dog his offering. "I got some food for you, come on out."  
  
Slowly, the puppy came out, walked cautiously over to Arthur on wobbly legs before sniffing at the venison he was offering. Once he seemed to realize Arthur was a friend, not a foe, he happily took the treat. "There ya go," Arthur said, and the little dog scarfed up the venison jerky. When he was done, Arthur held his hand out, let the puppy sniff at him for a moment before reaching up to pet his muddy orange-reddish fur. The puppy had no collar and he was so skinny that Arthur could see his ribs. These things didn't seem to dampen the little dog's spirits, however, since he wagged his tail as Arthur stroked his fur.   
  
Clearly, he didn't have anywhere to go. If he still had his mother, the little dog wouldn't have been out here, alone, to be tormented by those boys. If he had an owner, he would likely have a collar, be cleaner, and look well fed. As it stood, the only conclusion Arthur was reaching so far was that the puppy was a stray, and he couldn't bear the thought of leaving him out here for something bad to happen to him again. Not when he'd worked so hard to save him.  
  
He was barely thinking as he scooped the puppy up and dumped him into his satchel. On his way out of town, Arthur looked around, trying to see if there were any missing dog posters, but there were none, so clearly he was right in thinking the little dog was a stray. Which meant no one would mind if he took him.  
  
Which is how Arthur ended up riding back to camp with a puppy in his satchel.  
  
Reaching the end of the treeline that led into their camp, Arthur pulled gently on Charlie's reins to get the horse to slow up, flipped his satchel closed so it wasn't too obvious right off the bat he was trying to sneak the puppy in. First, he had to see what kind of mood Hosea and Dutch were in, to see if they'd let him keep the puppy. He dismounted and hitched Charlie up at a post, unsaddled, fed and brushed him before giving him a few pats and making his way over to the campfire where his family seemed to be waiting for him. "Ah, Arthur, there you are!" Hosea said.  
  
"Dutch, Hosea." Arthur greeted. "How'd you guys make out?"  
  
"Well, we could have done better," Dutch replied, sounding a little bummed out. "All in all, not too bad."  
  
"The coach wasn't carrying as much as we originally thought." Hosea clarified. "But we still got out with a little over five hundred."  
  
"Well, that's not too bad," Arthur said.  
  
"It ain't all that much when you take into account that we end up giving a lot of our scores away." Dutch shot him down. Arthur decided to not push any further.  
  
"Um, I have a question."  
  
"Yeah, son, what is it?" Hosea asked.   
  
"Um, well..." Arthur didn't know how to move forward with asking permission to keep the puppy. Luckily, he didn't have to. At that very moment, the puppy jumped out of his satchel, wagging his tail and barking as he surveyed the new surroundings. "... Can we keep him, please?" He asked (more like begged) as Dutch, Hosea, and Bessie looked at the little dog with looks of shock. "He was gettin' kicked around by some boys. I jumped in and saved him. He's just a little puppy, I don't wanna leave him out there."  
  
"That explains why you look like you were in a bar fight," Dutch said as he looked at Arthur a little closer. And then his attention, along with Hosea, Bessie, and Arthur's, were all back on the puppy.   
  
"Arthur, dogs are a lot of responsibility," Hosea said sternly. "Having a pet isn't something you should just jump into."  
  
"What, and picking up an orphan is?" Arthur challenged. "C'mon, look at him, he wouldn't make it out there alone another five minutes."  
  
Truth be told, maybe that was why Arthur felt so protective over this creature so instantaneously. They all directed their attention at the puppy again, and Arthur hoped the parallels he was drawing between himself and the little dog were clear enough.  
  
"A puppy and a boy are two different things," Hosea said. "Dogs are animals, animals are supposed to be able to be on their own in the wild, human children aren't."  
  
"I ain't so sure we can afford a dog." Dutch pitched in, and Arthur was starting to feel all of his arguments die in his throat.   
  
"I cost a lot more than a dog, and y'all still keep me." Arthur countered, eyebrows furrowed. "All he'd really need is food and water, I can get him both of those things. Easy peasy."  
  
"He's gonna need that stuff constantly," Hosea said. "You've already got your plate full with chores."  
  
"And what about when we finally let you come on jobs?" Dutch asked, and it surprised Arthur a little because they hadn't talked about that possibility since... well since they first picked him up and said he was too young. "Who's gonna take care of the dog while you're away? Or if something happens to you, who's gonna take care of the dog, then?"  
  
"I've already had a dog before!" Arthur argued, and that seemed to surprise them right back. "Before mama got sick, we had a dog. His name was Henry. I mostly took care of him, so I already know what I'm doing."  
  
Of course, Arthur had wanted to avoid bringing that up, because in the end, after mama died, Henry ran away as soon as daddy started being a dick. But, technically, that wasn't Arthur's fault. He was more than able to take care of a dog.  
  
Dutch and Hosea looked at each other, seemed to have a wordless conversation that they reached a mutual conclusion to very quickly. Finally, Dutch sighed. "Alright, Arthur, you can keep the puppy." And Arthur was about to thank him profusely, before he continued with, "Under one condition."  
  
"Name your price," Arthur replied.  
  
"You're gonna have to train him. He ain't gonna waltz around camp doing whatever he pleases, I won't have it."  
  
Arthur nodded. "Of course."  
  
Dutch pulled a cigar out, lit it with a match that he struck against his boot. "You got yourself a dog, then, boy."  
  
Arthur couldn't help the grin that made its way onto his face. "Thank you!"  
  
"What's his name, then?" Hosea asked, arms crossed.   
  
Arthur looked down at the puppy, and the thing that stood out about him most was the color of his fur. "His fur is kinda like the color of a penny. What're those made of?"  
  
"Copper, mostly," Hosea answered.  
  
"Then, his name is Copper."  
  
"Alright," Dutch said, then kneeled down and let Copper sniff at him before petting him. "Welcome to the gang, Copper."  
  
That night, as they ate dinner, Arthur gave Copper scraps of his hunk of rabbit. When it was bedtime, he curled up and fell peacefully asleep at the bottom of Arthur's cot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penny_(United_States_coin)  
Here's some stuff on pennies. I was wondering if they were made of copper back then; the answer is yes.  
The scene with the boys beating Copper up is inspired by that scene in Annie (1982) where the boys are messing around with Sandy. Here's a clip, in case you have no idea what I'm talking about. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xn9L_qiRKVA  
If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment, and a kudos if you haven't already!


	8. The Matthews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very Hosea and Bessie centric chapter, and it'll become clear why by the end of it.  
Beta read by my friend DJ, and Eve. Here are links to them.
> 
> DJ - https://doodle-famous.tumblr.com/  
Eve - https://nosorrybabygirl.tumblr.com/
> 
> Just a quick warning, this chapter has some mentions of wound care, that might be a bit graphic for some people. I tried to describe wound care in the late 1800s as best I could, but couldn't find many resources, besides what we're told in the game. That being said, this scene and future ones are mostly gonna follow the game's canon for wound care.
> 
> With that said, please enjoy this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a cover for this story! You can find it here:  
https://www.deviantart.com/crimsonfandomtrash/art/All-Them-Years-Cover-823208012

"Sit."

Copper didn't listen. He stared up at Arthur with a dumb look on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted and wagged his tail happily.

"Copper, sit!"

"That dog doesn't listen to ya, son," Hosea remarked a couple of feet away, without looking up from the book his nose was buried in.

"Well, it's not like I ain't tryin'." Arthur sighed. "Sit!"

In the amount of time it took for Arthur to speak to Hosea and go back to giving Copper a command, the pup’s gaze had wandered to a butterfly. As it wandered past the bubbly dog, who had the attention span of a rock, the pup barked and started to chase after it. Arthur plopped on a log in defeat with a frustrated sigh.  _ Henry would've sat _ , he thought, a little miffed that he had to work with a dog as tragically dull as Copper. 

It was finally the end of April, with only a handful of days left until May. He’d had Copper about a month. In that amount of time, one would suspect that Arthur would have been able to get Copper to learn at least one command. Nope. He was luckily able to get the pup to do one thing, and that was to stop chewing up boots- after, of course, he'd ruined three pairs of Dutch's. It was a miracle Arthur had been able to keep the dumb dog after the hassle he’d given them all, and he didn't listen for shit. He had a feeling Dutch and Hosea only put up with Copper's crap at this point because they didn't want Arthur to be upset.

"He's still just a puppy," Hosea said with a sigh, yet again distracted by Arthur and Copper’s antics, but still not glancing up. "I'm sure he'll be trainable at some point. For now, just keep 'im outta trouble."

"I ain't sure I really believe that," Arthur muttered. "He's a bit stupid." And for some reason, Hosea must’ve found that funny, because he laughed a little. “What?”

"Nothin'," Hosea said as he flipped to the next page in his book. 

"No," Arthur said, "Whatchu laughin' 'bout?"

"Well," Hosea started as he stuffed his thumb between the now mostly closed covers of his book, grinning almost devilishly at Arthur, "I was just thinkin', you weren't exactly the sharpest tool when we picked you up."

Arthur was torn between being amused, with the knowledge Hosea didn’t really mean that or being offended. His mouth hung agape as Hosea laughed to himself a little more. "Well, now, that ain't very nice, Mr. Matthews." He replied, trying to sound annoyed, but a smile on his lips betrayed him. 

"Being nice is rather boring sometimes, Mr. Morgan," Hosea remarked back with a smile of his own. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out of Dutch and Hosea, Arthur liked Hosea more. 

He had no issues with Dutch, don't be mistaken; but Hosea, Hosea was... Well, Hosea was a lot like his father had been before mama's death had soured him. Patient, kind, and always there when Arthur needed him. He couldn't tell Dutch or Bessie half the shit going on in his head, but around Hosea, he felt free to speak his mind.

He thought that as he sat with Hosea during his guard shift at the edge of camp, up and alert way past his bedtime, but he knew the older man wouldn't tell Dutch on him. Hosea stood, watching the tree line for threats with a rifle in his hands. Copper was laid by where Arthur sat on the ground, his head on his lap, peacefully snoring. The only other sound being the crickets and cicadas singing their spring night song, and the distant campfire crackling. A slight breeze reminded Arthur that summer was still a little too far away. "Hosea?" He called upon the older man to break what was otherwise silence.

Hosea hadn't looked back at him, keeping vigilant eyes on the tree line, ready for anything. Arthur knew he was listening, though. "Yeah, son?"

Arthur only hesitated to say what he'd been thinking for a little over a second or two. "D'you ever get nightmares?"

"That why you're up?"

"Mm."

Hosea didn't reply for a moment, and Arthur'd almost thought to retract the statement and tell the older man not to worry about it. "Sometimes." He finally spoke up, quietly. "What'd you have a nightmare about?"

Even knowing Hosea wouldn't condemn him for it, Arthur still felt bad for the next words out of his mouth. "I dreamt that I woke up in camp, alone." He replied. "Everything was gone, y'all, your tents, your horses. Looked all over for you, Dutch, and Bessie, but it was like you'd all just... vanished."

Hosea seemed very hesitant to take his eyes off the horizon, lest any danger was lurking nearby. Seemingly he had thrown caution to the wind, as slung the rifle he was holding over his shoulder with the strap. Then he knelt down to Arthur’s level and put a hand on his shoulder.    
  
“Hey, look at me." He requested, and Arthur obliged. Hosea's eyes held a sad sincerity that Arthur had never seen before. "I'm sure I speak for everyone here when I say that we'd rather throw ourselves off the highest mountain than leave you behind."

Arthur ducked his head. "I know you guys wouldn't leave me behind." Or, at least, he'd been pretty sure Dutch nor Hosea had the will to abandon him, at that point in his life, at least. "Doesn't make it any less of a terrifying thought. I wouldn't make it out there on my own."

When he'd looked back up after that confession, a weight seemingly lifted from his soul. Hosea was looking at him silently, and Arthur could almost see the gears turning in the older man’s head. When he seemingly couldn't string together anything to say he sighed, took pause, before pulling Arthur into a tight hug.

Admittedly, Arthur froze up a bit. This was a new development after all. The most affection he normally had received from them was a pat on the shoulder, or sometimes to his dismay, a ruffle of his hair when his hat wasn't on his head to guard him. Quick, casual gestures, never nearly as close as this. He hesitated in returning the favor, arms wrapping slowly around the other man.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. As much of a shock as it was, he found himself getting used to it, laying his chin on Hosea's shoulder as he closed his eyes.

"I promise, as long as you need us, we'll be here for you."

Arthur nodded a little, feeling a bit more secure at that moment than he had the year he'd been with Hosea and Dutch. Hosea, at the very least, wouldn't ever leave him. "Okay."

After a few more moments, Hosea pulled away, gave Arthur's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and a smile, before standing back up. "You should get to bed." He said. "Dutch's shift starts soon, and he won't be near as understanding as me when it comes to you being up this late."

Arthur nodded, picked up the snoozing puppy in his lap as he stood himself. Copper kept on snoring, seemingly unbothered by Arthur moving him. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Of course," Hosea said. "Good night, Arthur. I hope you have sweet dreams."

"I'll try," Arthur replied. "G'night, Hosea."

Hosea gave him a nod, before taking the rifle strapped to his back and holding it in his hands, turned to face the tree line again. Ready for anything. Arthur, meanwhile, went back to his tent and fell peacefully asleep with Copper in his arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no mistaking that Hosea and Bessie loved each other very dearly. Hosea would more than likely give Bessie the stars in the sky if he could. Since that was impossible, he instead gave her everything he could. It wasn't rare for the older man to go out and find a nice gift for her after a successful robbery, and as such, Arthur had seen him give her many things in the short year he'd been with them.

Stepping out of his tent for the morning, he’d been greeted by the sight of Hosea and Bessie sitting together at the campfire. Hosea had his arm draped around her, his free hand reaching into his satchel. He pulled out a small box. "Happy anniversary, dear." He said, handing the box to her.

"You spoil me too much, darling," Bessie giggled as she gave him a playful slap on the shoulder, before accepting the box.

"Well, it's usually only once that you're married for ten years." He told her, a goofy grin never leaving his face. "Go on, open it."

She did so and pulled out a beautiful gold bracelet encrusted with sparkly green gems that shone in the sunlight like the most precious of emeralds. She gasped, an incredulous look on her face as she turned the bracelet in her hands. "Hosea, it's gorgeous."

"Not nearly as much as you." He replied, taking her smaller, softer hand into his work-roughed ones, and pressed a loving kiss to the top of her knuckles. She smiled as they stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. 

"I love it." She finally said. "Though, not nearly as much as I do you."

"Eh, I wouldn't be mad if you loved the bracelet more. Lord knows, I ain't that pretty anymore."

"Oh, hush." Bessie chastised and gave him another slap to the shoulder. "I think you're still just as handsome as when we met."

"Whereas, you only get more beautiful as time goes on."

It was then that Bessie noticed him up and about for the day, smiled as she said, “Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good mornin’.” He replied. “You guys mind if I join ya?”

“Of course not, go ahead,” Hosea replied, though his gaze never left his wife.

Arthur sat on the log across from them. “So, you guys have been married ten years?”

“Yeah, ten years to the date,” Bessie answered. She looked at Hosea fondly as she said, “And what a wonderful ten years they’ve been.”

The love-struck look on Hosea’s face seemed glued there still as he said, “I’m inclined to agree.”

“How’d y’all meet?”

“Well, she was getting robbed by this real big feller. Was pointing his gun at her and everything.” Hosea started. “Obviously, I wasn’t just gonna leave that be, so I hopped off my horse, strode over to him, and pointed my own guns at ‘im.”

Bessie giggled as recollection passed over her eyes. “You should’ve seen his face. Looked like he’d just soiled himself.”

“I ain’t a very intimidating man, but I was carrying one more gun than he was. So, he ran off, and I walked her home. And, since that was the town I was staying in at that moment, we ran into each other again a couple of times after that.” He laughed a little, and said, “Took about three or four times running into her before I ever made any kind of move. Once we were together, we moved around every now and then, ‘cuz I was lookin’ for acting work. Up ‘til a few years ago, when I quit the acting business to be an outlaw.”

“And then you met Dutch,” Arthur added in, more of a statement than a question. Hosea nodded. “Wasn’t it hard? Goin’ from living a normal life, to this?”

“It was definitely an adjustment for both of us, at first, but…” Hosea took pause as he and his wife shared a glance, a knowing look between only the two of them that had Arthur wondering what that was about. “Well, it’s still an adjustment, I suppose.”

Arthur could relate there, honestly. When he’d closed his eyes at night, he could still imagine living in that decrepit cabin with his father. A whole year had gone by since then, but he’d spent most of his life tip-toeing around the house, trying not to rock the boat.

“How come you two didn’t celebrate your anniversary last year?” He decided to ask, not wanting his thoughts on his father much longer. The wound was still fresh.

“Oh, we both clean forgot, in the excitement of you being around,” Bessie replied. “I think it’s because we always wanted children of our own.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“We tried a few times, but it never worked,” Hosea said, seemingly a little saddened. “We had three miscarriages in the first few years we were together. Decided after that, it just wasn’t meant to be.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur said, fully meaning it. “I imagine it was difficult.”

Bessie nodded with a sad look on her face as well. “It was. It took a little while, but we moved on from it, eventually; decided that we could be happy, just the two of us.”

Arthur nodded in reply, processing what he’d been told, before deciding he’d taken up enough of their time. Tipped his hat at the couple as he said, “Well, enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Dutch said from nearby, and Arthur hadn’t even noticed him sitting just outside his tent until then. “Regular pair of love-birds, they are.”

Watching the couple dote over each other as he left to do his chores, Arthur didn’t doubt that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur and Bessie had both been checking their pocket watches since a little after noon. Hosea and Dutch were out running a scam, something about being private investors interested in some land from the local big cats, just outside of town. They said they’d be back a little after lunchtime.

The sun was starting to dip beneath the mountains, and Bessie and Arthur were getting paranoid. Hosea and Dutch never overshot this long with the time they’d be back home.

“Maybe I should go looking for them,” Arthur suggested.

“No, if they come back between then, they’ll just worry about you being out past sunset,” Bessie replied, but she didn’t sound so sure herself that Dutch and Hosea didn’t need a hand.

“Well, I ain’t got a good feeling about this,” Arthur said in response. Not even a moment later, he just made out the shape of two familiar horses riding into camp. “There they are.” He sighed in relief until a double-take revealed that Onyx was following behind The Duke riderless. Arthur felt his heart drop to his stomach at that moment, a thousand ‘what-if’ scenarios bouncing around in his skull.

“Bessie, Arthur!” It was Dutch shouting as he rode into camp, and Arthur could just barely make out a figure laid across the back of The Duke’s rump. “Clear off a table, Hosea’s been shot!” He hopped off The Duke and started helping Hosea down. 

“How?! What happened?” Bessie asked, trepidation in her voice.

“I’ll explain later, clear a table off, we have to close the wound up,” Dutch commanded, sounding as panicked, and obviously rightly so. Arthur and Bessie got to work on doing as he said, while Dutch tried to keep Hosea awake. “Come on, old man, you gotta stay up- here, help me keep pressure on it.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Arthur asked as soon as he and Bessie had cleared the table off. Dutch was quick in laying Hosea on it.

“That all depends on us, now,” Dutch said quickly, and clearly was in a hurry; not for nothing, of course. Hosea seemed to be losing blood fast. “Mrs. Matthews, please go get your sewing kit. Mr. Morgan, go grab the whiskey from my tent.”

Arthur and Bessie practically scrambled to complete the tasks Dutch had asked of them, and when Arthur got back to the table, Hosea’s shirt had been hiked up to reveal where a bullet had just barely grazed his side, a chunk of skin just. Missing. Hosea laid there with a pinched expression on his face. Dutch practically snatched the whiskey from Arthur’s hands as soon as he came back with it, said gently to Hosea, “Sit up, and drink some of this for the pain, friend.”

Hosea seemed dazed but listened, groaning in pain as Dutch helped prop him up, chugging almost desperately as Dutch raised the bottle to his lips, inhaling sharply as he was laid back down. “Bessie, you’re gonna have to clean the wound out and suture it up,” Dutch instructed. She nodded. “Arthur, you’re gonna have to help me hold him down.”

“Okay…” Arthur agreed, his gaze refusing to leave the giant chunk of skin missing from Hosea’s side. Every breath the older man took sounded like a battle, and Arthur was anxious to find out whether he was winning or not.

“Arthur!” Dutch yelled his name and it broke Arthur out of his daze. “Help me hold him down.”

Arthur listened this time around, helping to pin Hosea down to the table so Bessie could work. “Okay, Mrs. Matthews, go on and clean the wound out.”

Bessie nodded as she unscrewed the lid off the bottle of whiskey, hands shaking as she began pouring the amber liquid into the wound. Immediately, Hosea reacted, back arching off the table as a desperate cry escaped his throat. He tried to thrash, but Arthur and Dutch tightened their grip on him. His breathing became ragged, his eyes screwed shut and he grit his teeth. Despite seeing that the wound was only a graze, Arthur still couldn’t help but wonder if anything vital had been hit.

Well, Hosea had been hit, and he was pretty vital.

Bessie had whispered apologies into Hosea’s ear as she began pulling a thread through the needle, but Arthur couldn’t hear her words over the pounding of his own heart. It was only a graze, but the amount of blood pooling around Hosea’s side on the table and dripping into the grass below was definitely concerning, to say the least.

Watching the needle pierce through Hosea’s skin was even more disturbing, for some reason. Hosea tried kicking and thrashing, fighting to get away from the help he’d needed so desperately. It was clear the older man was running out of fight, though, because soon his thrashing ceased, his breathing evened out. “Is- is he okay?”

“He must’ve passed out,” Dutch muttered in reply. “It’ll probably be easier this way.” 

With no reason to keep holding him down, Dutch and Arthur both stepped back from the table, and Arthur took a moment to look at Bessie. Her hands were still shaking and now coated in blood as she continued pulling the needle and thread through her husband’s flesh. She looked somewhere between numb, and like she was about to be sick, brows furrowed and a look in her eyes that rubbed Arthur the wrong way. He could see the gears turning in her head.

“Mrs. Matthews.” Dutch stepped towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “How’s about I take over from here?” Bessie only nodded a little, passing the needle and thread to Dutch before walking in the direction of the nearby river. “Alright, Arthur. Watch closely.” Dutch instructed. “This is something you’re gonna have to know.”

Arthur listened and watched, even with as sick as watching Hosea get sewn back up made him feel. In the end, Dutch was right; he was probably gonna have to know how to do this. As Dutch finished the final stitch, he tied the thread up, making a couple of knots so there was less chance of the stitches busting. Then, Arthur and Dutch carried Hosea to his and Bessie’s cot, laying him down gently as to not disturb him. 

As they stepped out of the tent, and Bessie sat quietly at their campfire, Arthur asked, “How did he get shot?”

“The men we was trying to scam caught wind to who we actually were,” Dutch explained as he pulled a cigar out of his satchel, put it between his lips. “We were using aliases, and I slipped up, called him Hosea instead of the name we came up for him.”

Dutch looked like he felt awful guilty as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He handed one to Bessie, who accepted the offering. Dutch then pulled out matches, struck one against his boot and brought the flame up to his cigar, before lighting Bessie’s cigarette for her. “I am terribly sorry, Bessie, that this happened to your husband. I feel I’m to blame for this.”

Bessie took a long drag off her cigarette. “It isn’t your fault.” She said. “It’s the bastard that pulled the trigger’s fault.” And there was no small amount of venom in her tone. 

“He’s… gonna be okay, right?” Arthur asked. 

“He should be,” Dutch replied. “It was only a graze.”

“He lost an awful lotta blood.” Arthur reminded him, looking over at the table where Hosea had laid a few minutes ago. Even still, there was blood dripping off the edge of the table and trickling to the grass below.

“As long as he doesn’t lose anymore, and the wound doesn’t get infected, he should be fine.” Arthur only nodded in reply, hoping Dutch knew what he was talking about. “We’re gonna have to clean that blood up, so it doesn’t attract any wild animals. Go get some water from the river, please, Arthur.”

And, as always, Arthur did as he was told.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Due to Hosea being wounded, Arthur and Dutch now needed to split guard duty. Dutch kept watch from the time they went to bed, until halfway through what would have been his own shift. Then, he’d wake Arthur, and he’d stand guard until around six in the morning when Dutch would be back awake again. Arthur would then go back to bed until around nine in the morning, and drag himself through his chores.

It had been like that for a little over a week. Hosea was recovering, and the wound wasn’t getting infected. The older man still wasn’t well enough to get out of bed, however.

Whatever tiny amounts of sleep Bessie was getting was in Arthur’s tent. The first time Arthur had gone to check on her and Hosea was the next morning after he’d been shot, and she looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. So, Arthur had taken to sleeping in the tent he’d borrowed at the beginning of his time with the group, on a bedroll, while Bessie slept in his tent on his cot. He didn’t mind downgrading again, if only because Bessie looked like she needed sleep more than the rest of them. 

Hosea still slept a lot, rarely getting up, but Dutch reasoned that the man needed rest if he was to recover. Arthur had only gotten to see Hosea awake a few times in the time he’d been bedridden. Mostly, Arthur distracted himself. Doing his chores, practicing his cursive, doodling, trying to get Copper to listen to him (it still wasn’t working).

But one night, he was up for guard duty, when he heard Hosea and Bessie from their tent. Curious, he slung the rifle in his hands over his shoulder, and tiptoed over to their tent, Copper following close behind him.

“I just… I don’t like the direction this whole business is headed in.” Bessie was saying. “Every time you and Dutch go out with some scheme, you’re putting your life on the line!”

“Dear, everyone’s lives are on the line every day,” Hosea replied, and Arthur could hear Bessie sigh. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, until Hosea added, “Look, I don’t like this either. But it’s not like I’ve got much of a choice. The acting thing wasn’t working out.”

“I think you make a fine actor,” Bessie said indigently. “I don’t want to live like this, Hosea. Sleeping with one eye open, having to run all the time. I just want for things to go back to the way they were before we left home.”

There was another long moment of silence, until Hosea finally said, “Fine. Once I’m well enough to travel, we’ll give civilized life another try.”

Deciding to stew on that information later, Arthur snuck away from their tent and went back to guard duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, don't @ me, Hosea and Bessie leaving is canon. It's also canon that they didn't leave for very long, so things will be alright soon enough.
> 
> Btw Hosea drinks respect women juice all day.
> 
> I'm still looking for more beta readers if anyone is interested. I have a hard time doing this all on my own, so it'd be a huge help, I'd deeply appreciate it. It'd mean you would get to see new chapters before they're ever up on Archive, so... I don't see any downside to that.
> 
> You can contact me through any of these sites/apps:  
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> 
> If you don't wanna beta read, you can still contact me if you wanna be friends or something. I don't have many of those... *insert nervous sweaty emoji here because I'm on a laptop and they don't have emojis* No pressure tho.
> 
> Please leave a comment, and a kudos if you haven't already! Lots of love! ^3^


	9. They're Family, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea and Bessie leave, in search of a decent life.

Ignoring what he'd heard from Hosea and Bessie's tent a few nights ago was difficult; ignoring the argument coming from Dutch's wasn't. 

Arthur and Copper were sat just outside of camp, so he couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could hear the anger in both of their voices. Bessie was working on packing their things up. Arthur pretended he had no idea what was going on, journal spread out in his lap as he practiced his cursive. 

Dutch and Hosea must have brought the argument closer to where Arthur sat under the shade of a tree because he was working on a cursive A as he heard, "Why're you doin' this to me, Hosea?" Dutch sounded desperate. "You got grazed, it's not _ that _ big of a deal!"

"I'm done with this discussion, Dutch. It's not up for debate."

"Fine!" Dutch yelled, "I was runnin' on my own for years before you showed up, anyway. I don't need you." And with that, the younger outlaw turned on his heel and stormed towards his tent. 

Arthur's gaze dropped back down to his journal, his mood souring a little. He figured Dutch wouldn't have been able to talk Hosea out of leaving. Didn't make it suck any less. 

And Arthur only looked up from his journal when a pair of familiar boots stopped just outside his field of view. His eyes locked with Hosea's, who had an apologetic expression on his face, his lips thinning into a line. "Would you ride with me, Arthur?"

Arthur shrugged, before starting to pack his stuff in his satchel. "Sure, I guess."

It was May, and the weather was warm and pleasant. The sky was peppered with fluffy white clouds, and the rolling hills were filled with vibrant flowers and plant life. A gentle breeze blew by as Hosea and Arthur rode down the trail, not a word spoken between them for the first little while after they'd set off. 

The tense silence was only broken when they hitched their horses to a tree and sat on a log together. "I'm sure you know by now, Bessie and I are leaving."

Arthur only nodded in reply, his face hidden by the brim of his hat. 

"You're obviously upset about it." Hosea pushed further, and Arthur shrugged. "Don't give me the cold shoulder, son, I'm tryin' to have a mature conversation with you here."

"Why are you and Bessie leaving?" Arthur finally asked, not liking the way his voice betrayed him. He didn't want Hosea to know he was upset, but he still found it difficult to mask his feelings, back then, anyway.

"Bessie doesn't want to live this kinda life," Hosea replied, folding his hands in front of him in his lap. "I'd be lying if I said I never wondered what it would be like, to go back to living like decent folk."

"You say that like you ain't decent."

"We can give away as much of our stolen goods as we like, Arthur, but that doesn't change the fact that we stole it in the first place."

Arthur also couldn't help the huge frown that nearly split his face, nor his eyebrows pulling together and his eyes narrowing to show his displeasure. More silence between them, filled only by the chirping of songbirds and the gentle rustling of leaves as another breeze went by. Until Hosea sighed and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, drawing the boy's attention from the stone he'd been glaring daggers at; as if it was solely responsible for Hosea leaving. "What if… You came with us?"

Arthur blinked a few times in confusion. "But, what about Dutch?"

"Somethin' tells me he ain't giving this way of life up any time soon- or, ever, really." Hosea's eyes shifted to the ground as he replied with that, which made Arthur feel like the older man was omitting something out, but he didn't push on it. "But you, you could come with Bessie and I. You could go to school, and meet kids your age-"

"I ain't much of a kid anymore, Hosea." 

And for the most part, that was true. In the eyes of most people, he was still a kid, just shy of sixteen- but from where Arthur stood, he'd already dealt with a lifetime of bullshit that normal children wouldn't have to. Between losing mama, and sitting on a log with Hosea as the man offered Arthur a space in a smaller version of their already tiny family, he'd had to _ do _ a lot of things normal children didn't have to, as well. 

Hosea picked up on that because of course, he did. "Right." He said with a nod. "I still stand by my offer." Arthur must have looked conflicted, because Hosea then said, "Take your time to think about it. We won't leave for another couple of days yet when I'm fully healed."

Hosea was fully healed within the next few days, or at least well enough to travel. He and Bessie packed the last of their belongings on a wagon that Mrs. Matthews had bought in town. 

Dutch, meanwhile, was sulking, a cigar hanging out his mouth as he sat by his tent with his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched, and a sour expression on his face. Dutch looked… Really scary when he was angry. Almost like pa. 

Which is why he kind of regretted telling Hosea that no, he wasn't going with them, he was staying with Dutch. Watching the Matthews couple disappear over the horizon felt like a knife through the heart. Two of the only three people who had cared for him in such a long time, gone like that. Probably never to be seen again. 

"We'll write often," Bessie told him, but would they really? What was the point of getting away from the life if they were just gonna keep talking to a couple of outlaws, anyway? 

And as much as Arthur wanted to write it all off, to pretend that they'd never cared in the first place, he couldn't. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His sixteenth birthday party wasn't nearly as special as his fifteenth had been. 

Dutch was great and all, don't get it twisted; but Hosea and Bessie's absence was still hitting them both hard. Arthur couldn't really be happy in the face of remembering last year when they were all four sat around the fire. Dutch couldn't lift his spirits because his own were dampened, seemingly mostly by how little he was pulling in without Hosea by his side. Was that all the older man had meant to him? An extra set of hands to grab loot? 

Whatever the case may be, his birthday this year sucked, and he'd been looking forward to it even less than last year as soon as Hosea and Bessie left. He was grateful for the new journal Dutch had gotten him, on account of his other one being completely filled up now. He was thankful for how tipsy drinking made him that night, making it easier to fall asleep. Other than that, it sucked. 

Another year older, but definitely not wiser. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He'd learned a lot since Dutch and Hosea saved him that fateful night, they'd taken him under their wing, but not enough, really. He was still clueless as to his place in this world, what his continued existence meant. The man who'd killed his father had fortunately spared him that night over a year ago now, and he wanted for that to be some kind of sign that he was meant to live. Meant to do something with that chance. 

But, of course, he didn't know what it was he was supposed to do with that chance yet. Maybe he'd figure it out eventually. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was something about drawing and writing that was cathartic for Arthur. He and Dutch seemed to butt heads at every possible moment, and it drove him a little crazy, but Arthur got lost in making marks on paper to create something. 

They'd moved camp recently after Dutch botched a robbery in town, and were now near somewhere called Whiteridge, and that they'd crossed the border from Maryland to West Virginia. It was a pretty enough state, and the weather wasn't too horrible, save for the rain. It hardly bothered Arthur as he sat in his tent and wrote a letter. 

_ Hosea and Bessie, _

_ I've written to let you know that Dutch and I have moved to Whiteridge in West Virginia. I'm sure Dutch'll tell you both about that in his own letter, but, there it is anyway. _

He always found writing to them difficult, never wanting to say the wrong thing, send the letter off, and regret it later. What if he wrote something foolish and they never contacted him again? The letters already took agonizingly slow to arrive. The couple had been gone for a little over two months, and they'd only sent him two letters so far. 

_ I hope you're both doing well in Crimsondale. Dutch says Crimsondale is about a four-day ride from here, over the mountains to our north. I don't know if he'll let me, but I'm thinking about visiting you two sometime soon. I get real bored just sitting around camp, but Dutch says that we can't both leave at the same time, lest we want our stuff to get taken. _

_ Dutch and I don't get along real well on our own. I guess it's because of my attitude, or the fact that I don't seem to know how to listen lately. The other day, he told me to go out hunting, so I told him, 'why don't you?' And it started a whole argument I'd rather not relive anytime soon. We have very opposing mindsets, and things get difficult without you two around to keep the peace. _

_ But, we are doing well, if Dutch's blabbering on is anything to go by. Despite our bickering, I'm gaining a better understanding of him. And he is a good teacher, though, not nearly as good as you, Hosea. _

_ Copper's starting to listen to me a little better, but he still doesn't really. More so, he chooses when to listen, and when to stare up at me with a vacant look in his eyes that tells me the pup's got rocks for brains. Charlie's as good a traveling companion as ever and doesn't spook as easily anymore. As for me, I'm getting better at writing in cursive, and I've been doing a lot of shooting practice lately. _

_ Things aren't as good as they were when y'all were here, but they ain't horrible, I guess. _

_ Please enjoy the drawing I'm enclosing with this letter. It's a drawing of Copper eating one of Dutch's old boots. He weren't happy about that, but it was real funny to me, and Copper didn't pay much mind when Dutch yelled at him for it. _

_ Anyway, that's about all I really got to say. I hope I see you both sometime soon. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Arthur _

Satisfied with how his letter sounded when he read it in his head back to himself, Arthur enclosed it and the aforementioned drawing in an envelope. After making sure the envelope was closed, he threw it in his satchel to send off the next time he was in town. 

Well, the first time he was in town, rather. Arthur hadn't seen Whiteridge yet, and he didn't much care to. Towns meant people, and people usually meant trouble. Unfortunately, not going to town wasn't really an option, especially if he wanted to get things from the store or send letters off. So, after getting permission from Dutch, Arthur rode off towards Whiteridge. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur had gotten one more letter from Hosea and Bessie before they just stopped all of a sudden. 

He rode into town every couple days to check the mail for him and Dutch, and neither of them had gotten anything from either of them. It had been a whole month since the last time either of them had gotten a letter from the Matthews, only a little over three months since they'd left. 

Dutch seemed to be sweating over it too, a permanent crease between his brows that only got worse every time Arthur came back and told him that there wasn't anything in the mail today, either. 

"I'm sure they're fine." Dutch lied through his teeth, his concern clear in the way he never looked Arthur in the eye when he told him that. "They're probably busy sorting through the details of their new life." He'd add bitterly.

But then another month passed. September was here again, and it had been so long since a letter from the Matthews had graced either of their mailboxes. 

"Dutch, I got a bad feeling about this." Arthur brought up when he came back empty-handed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Maybe I could go to Crimsondale-"

"Absolutely not," Dutch replied, a sneer on his face. "Ain't no way in hell I'm lettin' you travel that far on your own. And we can't both leave, cuz when we come back, we'll be coming back to an empty camp. If they don't wanna write us anymore, it means they don't wanna bother with us anymore." And he sounded sad as he said it, but made sure his scowl stayed in place. "I forbid it. That's the end of the discussion."

And Arthur was already in a sour mood from the disappointment of another wasted trip to Whiteridge, which is probably why he started to yell at the older man. "What if they're in trouble and need our help?!"

"Then they woulda needed our help over two months ago, which means it's already too late! And how much help you gonna be on your own, anyway?"

"That ain't fair!" Arthur objected. "I've gotten really good at shooting, you know. I ain't some dumb little kid!"

He didn't back down or flinch as Dutch stomped out the rest of his cigar and stormed towards Arthur with a certain fury in his eyes. Held his sneer in place as Dutch got a little uncomfortably close. 

"Every time you've had to shoot fellers so far, they was standing still," Dutch replied in a low tone that didn't betray his anger. "You might think you got everything figured out, son, but you're a long way from being competent enough for a rescue mission. 'Specially against anyone who'd be giving Hosea, of all people, any trouble. So, like I said, that's the end of the discussion."

"So, what, you're tellin' me that the man you think of as a brother ain't important to you anymore?" Arthur practically spat at Dutch, no small amount of venom in his tone. 

"I said, that's the end of the discussion!" Dutch yelled back, turning on his heel as he started walking away. "Stop givin' me lip and get to work on your chores for the day, they ain't gonna do themselves!"

Arthur shouted a couple obscenities he was (almost) glad Bessie wasn't around to hear, before stomping off in the other direction. 

He didn't end up doing his chores. Instead, he ended up hopping on Charlie's back after putting Copper in the saddlebag, and then rode off, away from camp, and Whiteridge. 

Arthur ended up near a pond a bits outside of town, plenty of fish swimming through it that he was sure Hosea would have appreciated. He sat there, and he wrote. 

_ Dutch won't let me try to go check up on Hosea and Bessie or go himself it seems, and I don't know what to do. It's been over two months at this point since we got anything from them in the mail, and I'm worried. Maybe I shouldn't be, maybe Dutch is right and they just gave up on us- but I don't really believe that. _

He just didn't understand it. Why wouldn't Dutch want to know where Hosea and Bessie were? Didn't he care? 

And why couldn't Arthur go check? He could handle himself, for the most part. Dutch, and formerly Hosea, had spent the last year teaching him the things he needed to know to survive in the world. What was the point of those skills if he wasn't allowed to use them? 

It was frustrating, to say the least. He had to know. 

He only felt a little bad writing the next few sentences. 

_ I don't think I can listen to Dutch; I don't wanna go on wondering whether or not they're okay. I'm leaving tonight, and I don't care what kind of punishment Dutch hands me when I get back. _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before going back to camp, Arthur made a stop into town for supplies- food enough for him, Charlie, and Copper. At least, he hoped it was enough to last them for the four-day journey. 

Dutch didn't speak to him very much when he got back, but that wasn't honestly anything new. When they weren't arguing, they either barely acknowledged or slightly tolerated each other. The issue had only gotten worse since the Matthews couple left, without them there to balance the dynamics it was just one larger kid arguing with another.

Cuz as much as Dutch liked to pretend that he knew what he was doing at all times, Arthur saw through it. That was one of Dutch's issues with Arthur- he was too perceptive and too full of doubts. 

They ate dinner in silence, Arthur drew in his journal, and eventually, it was time for bed. Without Hosea around, they now split guard duty between the two of them equally, Arthur getting first shift, and Dutch getting second. 

It was quiet as Arthur crept over to Dutch's tent. The outlaw had gone to bed about an hour ago. "Dutch, you awake?" Arthur asked quietly from outside the tent. The only response he got was light snoring. 

_ Now's my chance. _

Quickly and quietly, Arthur packed some stuff- a change of clothes, his bedroll, matches, compass, map- anything he'd really need over the next few days was strapped to Charlie's back, shoved in a saddlebag, his pockets, or satchel. Tearing a fresh page out of his journal, Arthur wrote a note for Dutch. 

_ I went to find Hosea and Bessie, I wasn't okay with not knowing. You'll probably be mad at me when I get back. I don't really care. They're family, too. _

_ -Arthur _

With that, he placed the note on his cot, saddled up, and rode towards Crimsondale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about a thousand words shorter than most, that's because I hate writing on my phone. I busted my laptop tho so this is the only way I can really continue this story.
> 
> That being said, updates are going to continue to be really slow, and probably this short if not shorter for the sake of not having to type on my phone so much. I'll probably still be working on this story when income taxes roll around next year (in 2021), which is when I plan on getting a new laptop.
> 
> With all that said, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a kudos if you haven't already, comments are deeply appreciated too. Bye!


	10. To Crimsondale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his way to find Hosea and Bessie, a man stumbles across Arthur- and he's definitely not a friend.

Arthur only rode for a little while to know he was far enough away from camp before setting up one of his own. He collected firewood, his lantern lighting the way, before making a fire like Hosea had taught him, set up his tent and bedroll before climbing in and falling asleep. 

When he awoke in the morning, he wasn't able to make coffee- which he'd recently been drinking, if only for the familiar smell wafting through camp. Dutch still made coffee every now and then, but he never drank it as often as Hosea had. 

So, that was kind of a bummer, but he already had a lot to carry between him and Charlie. So he could live without it. 

After feeding Copper and Charlie, and having some breakfast for himself, Arthur packed up his tiny camp and started off in the direction of Crimsondale again. He was thankful for his jacket since the sun hadn't yet warmed the earth, and dawn's chill still lingered around. Copper seemed to be enjoying the ride, tongue lolling out of his mouth as they rode through new territory. 

Arthur couldn't help the nagging feeling he got when his thoughts wandered back to Dutch. He checked his pocket watch after a few hours of riding to see that it was noon. Surely, the slightly older man had awoken to find Arthur gone by now. He could vividly imagine Dutch storming around camp looking for him, finding his note and then throwing a fit. 

It was too late to head back now- at the pace Arthur was pushing Charlie, they'd reach Crimsondale in two, three days. He didn't even stop for a lunch break, just kept riding, fed himself and Copper some salted venison, and Charlie, a carrot. The trio kept going. 

Arthur only stopped riding just before nightfall, when the sun was just about to dip below the horizon. Like the night before, he made a fire, set his tent up, ate and fed his traveling companions before pulling his journal out to do some sketching and writing. 

On the ride, he'd seen a moose from a bits away, so he drew that, tried to remember all the tiny little details that he could. It eased his mind off of the anxiety he felt. Were Hosea and Bessie alright? Was Dutch angry with him? He was still a while away from having any of these questions answered. 

Once he was satisfied with how the drawing of the moose turned out, he wrote. 

_ Copper, Charlie and I are about a two-day ride from Crimsondale now, didn't stop for much today, probably won't til we get there. I'd feel real foolish if Hosea and Bessie send a letter while I'm off on this mission to find them. I do have to remember to pick up some extra ammo when we get there, in case things head south; as it stands, I've got the six bullets currently in my gun, a couple of arrows, my knife, and that's it.  _

_ I am doing rather well out here on my own, though, almost surprisingly so. Looks like Dutch and Hosea's lessons weren't for nothing. I can survive by myself now, I think. At least for small periods of time.  _

_ When I wake up in the morning, we'll set off again.  _

With that down, he closed his journal, put it and his pencil in his satchel, and laid down on his bedroll for a good night's sleep. 

~~~~~~~

Arthur awoke to the sound of rustling near his tent. He'd never been a particularly heavy sleeper. As soon as he stirred, Copper was roused too. The coonhound started barking as Arthur rubbed his tired eyes. 

There was a shadow outside his tent. 

He drew his gun from its holster and clicked the hammer back before cautiously exiting his tent, only to have a gun in his own face. 

"Put your weapon down." The stranger demanded. He was a slightly older gentleman, hair slightly greying in some areas and balding on the top. He was damn ugly, too. 

But, his gun was bigger, so Arthur listened, slowly set his revolver down on the ground. 

"Get outta the tent." He demanded next, and Arthur obeyed, crawling out of his tent with his arms still raised in surrender as his heart pounded in his chest. The stranger sneered at him. "You're just a damn kid. Why the hell're you out here on your own?"

"I ain't a kid," Arthur replied. 

"Look like a kid to me. How old're you?"

"Why's that matter?" Arthur challenged. "You're just gonna rob me, anyway."

"Ain't robbin' no one." The man said, putting his rifle on his back with the strap. Confused, Arthur let his hands drop to his sides. "The name's Austin. James Austin. I'm a bounty hunter." The man said. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a picture. "I'm looking for a pair of outlaws. You ever seen these men before?"

The picture he held up was of Dutch and Hosea, their faces covered with bandanas, but still instantly familiar to Arthur. In the background, he recognized the Riverton bank behind them. Looks like they'd never fully gotten away with it. 

"No, sir." Arthur lied through his teeth. 

"Their names are Dutch van der Linde and Hosea Matthews. They're wanted for larceny and murder." The man, James said as he put the picture back into his satchel. "I've been lookin' for 'em for months. One of the bastards killed my brother."

"Sorry to hear that," Arthur replied as sincerely as he could. Cuz if Dutch or Hosea killed this man's brother, he probably had it coming. They only killed in self-defense. 

James sighed in seemingly defeat. "You mind if I set camp here for the night?"

"I guess not," Arthur said with a shrug. Mr. Austin started unpacking his things from his horse. Told Arthur he could retrieve his weapon from where it lay abandoned on the ground. Arthur picked his revolver up and clicked the hammer back into place before holstering it. 

Once Mr. Austin was set up, they were sat by the fire. "You never answered my question. What's a kid like you doin' out here on your own?" 

"Surviving," Arthur answered. He poked at the fire with a stick. 

"How old're you?"

"Sixteen."

"So, a kid."

Arthur scowled at Mr. Austin. "I've done a lot more than any kid should have to."

"You ever kill a feller before?"

Arthur didn't like how personal this man was getting, but there was still the looming threat of the rifle on his back. So he answered, "Couple times, only to defend myself."

"Where are your folks?"

"Mama died when I was young. Pa got shot a little over a year ago." He said. "Been on my own since." He lied. 

Mr. Austin gave him a funny look, like he didn't believe Arthur, but didn't say anything about it. Arthur played dumb to the notion. With another sigh, James pulled a bottle from his satchel, unscrewed the lid and took a giant gulp before offering the bottle to Arthur. With a shrug, Arthur accepted the gesture, took a swig or two that made his throat burn. "Where ya headed?"

"Crimsondale," Arthur answered as he passed the bottle back. "I know some people there, who might be able to take me in before winter's here."

"I'm going there, too," James said. "Heard the older feller I'm looking for, Mr. Matthews, was in that area."

Arthur felt his blood freeze and his heart stop, tilted his head down so his hat could block his face. Decided changing the subject would be the best decision. "What's your horse's name?" He asked, looking at the mare. 

"That old nag? Her name is Brandy, on account of my drinking habits." Mr. Austin answered with a chuckle. "What about your steed? And that pup of yours?"

"Dog's name is Copper, he's dumb. Horse is named Charlie. He was my father's." Another lie. 

"Where ya from?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" 

Mr. Austin laughed some more at that. "I like you, son, you're full of fire." He said as he drank some more from the bottle. "'Scuse me for wanting to know who I'm bunking with for the night."

"Well, in that case, why don't I ask you some stuff?" Arthur said, and Mr. Austin gave a gesture that said 'go ahead'. "Why're you lookin' for these outlaws if they killed your brother? Ain't you worried about gettin' killed?"

"Not so much these days, no."

"Ain't Crimsondale a little far to be going for revenge?"

"Shit nowhere's too far for revenge."

Arthur really didn't like that answer. 

"Say, kid." Mr. Austin said, sat up a little straighter as Arthur could see the gears turning in his head. "If we're both headed to the same town, how's about we ride together?"

"Why should we?" Arthur asked, poking at the fire with his stick again. 

James shrugged. "Company. Protection."

"I can protect myself just fine."

"I'm sure you can, son." Mr. Austin replied in a condescending tone. 

"Don't call me that." Arthur all but growled, because being called 'son' by anyone other than Bessie, Hosea and Dutch felt wrong. 

"Look, I'm just sayin', we're both headed there anyway, we might as well go together."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine. I guess." He replied, then stood to his feet and went towards his tent. "I'm leaving when I wake up. If you're still asleep, I'm leaving you behind."

"Sounds fine by me." Mr. Austin said. Arthur didn't say anything else, crawled into his tent, pulled his lantern, journal, and pencil out, and wrote. 

_ A bounty hunter, James Austin, looking for Hosea and Dutch stumbled across me- I'm playing dumb, acting like I don't know them. The only issue is, Mr. Austin knows already that Hosea is in Crimsondale, and he wants to travel with me there. I have to find a way to keep this man away from him, or at least stop him from hurting or killing Hosea.  _

_ No idea how I'm gonna manage this, but for now, I'll have to keep playing like I don't know Dutch and Hosea.  _

_ For now, I'm going back to sleep. I have a long ride ahead of me still.  _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Arthur woke up, he smelled coffee and could have sworn he was back in camp with Dutch and Hosea. Then he opened his eyes, saw the inside of his small camping tent, felt rocks under him from where he was sleeping on the ground and remembered what he was doing and where he was. 

He put his hat on his head and crawled out of his tent, greeted by the sight of Mr. Austin. He was pouring coffee into a tin cup. He caught sight of Arthur, asked, "You want some?"

"Sure," Arthur replied with a shrug. He sat by the fire next to James and pulled his own cup out of his satchel, which James poured some coffee into. Taking a sip, Arthur's face scrunched up at the bitter taste. He still didn't fully understand how Hosea and Dutch could drink this stuff. 

Copper must have been roused when Arthur got up. He came out of the tent, tail wagging as he basically pounced on Arthur and started licking his face. Arthur couldn't help the giddy giggles that escaped him as he put his cup down and started petting the pup. "Mornin', boy."

Copper eventually left Arthur alone, sat beside him as his tongue lolled out of his mouth while he panted and wagged his tail. Arthur killed off his coffee, fed himself, Copper and Charlie before starting to pack up camp. Mr. Austin was already mostly done packing by the time Arthur strapped his bedroll and tent to Charlie. 

"If you don't hurry up, you'll be eating my dust, Mr. Austin."

"Oh, I'm sure I will," James replied. 

After the bounty hunter got his stuff packed, they'd saddled up and started towards Crimsondale again. It was a nice day today, but Arthur could still tell autumn was on the way. 

It would have been a better day if he weren't riding alongside a man who wanted to kill Hosea, but here he was. 

"I never got your name, kid," James said when the silence between them dragged on for an hour or so. 

"I never gave it."

"So?"

"So, what?"

"What's your damn name?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. This man was a bounty hunter from Riverton, Maryland. That was near enough where Arthur had grown up; surely, this man would have heard about Lyle Morgan at one point or another. "My name is… Alan Marsh."

Another look of dubious trust, less subtle this time, but Arthur continued to play dumb. 

"Well, Mr. Marsh. I apologize for pointin' my gun in your face last night. I was expecting to find an outlaw, not a kid."

"I ain't a goddamn kid," Arthur replied, fed up at this point with being treated like a child. Dutch treated him like a kid, this bounty hunter Mr. Austin was, too. The only person who ever treated him like an adult was Hosea. Arthur should have left with him and Bessie, then he wouldn't be riding with a man who wanted to kill the only people in the world who gave a damn about him. 

But then, if he had left with Hosea and Bessie, he would have no idea there was a man going on a long trip to get revenge against him. So, maybe it was for the best that he'd stayed with Dutch. 

They mostly rode in silence. Every now and then, Mr. Austin would try to strike up a conversation, and Arthur would shut it down with short, curt responses. The man was annoying and nosey, was asking questions Arthur wanted no part of. 

"That hat's too big on you." Mr. Austin said at one point. Miffed, Arthur growled under his breath, took the hat off his head and shoved it in one of Charlie's saddlebags. 

Around noon, they stopped for a lunch break. Arthur didn't particularly want to stop riding, but he guessed it gave him more time to come up with a solution to this issue. 

As he fed himself, Copper and Charlie, Arthur thought, the gears turning in his head. Crimsondale was still a two and a half, three-day ride ahead, maybe a little less if they cut through the plains. That wasn't a whole lot of time, and the more of that time he spent with Mr. Austin was an opportunity for the man to discover his lies. About who he was, about the fact that he did actually know Dutch and Hosea. 

He had to come up with something. And, as they were settling in and setting camp for the night, an idea struck him. He'd leave Mr. Austin behind tonight, sneak off like he'd done when he began this journey in the first place, and then he, Copper and Charlie would ride hard to Crimsondale, where Arthur would warn Hosea about the feller after him and Dutch. 

More than likely, he'd have to go without sleep for that time, but if he rode hard enough, it should only take a little over a day to get there. 

So as soon as Mr. Austin was down for the night, having drunk the rest of that bottle they'd passed around last night, Arthur quietly packed up. He put Copper in the saddlebag, pulled his hat out the other one, and left the bounty hunter behind. 

He felt real bad pushing Charlie as hard as he was, made sure to give him plenty of breaks in between making him go as fast as possible, made sure to feed him every now and then. 

They rode like that through the night and into the day, through the day into the night again. Especially when they stopped for a water break, Arthur would look over his shoulder, waiting for a silhouette of the bounty hunter on the horizon. He never saw him. 

Sometime after midnight, he rode into Crimsondale. He hitched Charlie outside of town, put a rope leash around Copper's neck, and walked into town. 

Crimsondale looked a lot like every other town, and there really wasn't much of a difference between it and everywhere else Arthur had ever been. Across the street from the saloon was a gunsmith, which Arthur thought was a bad idea. There was a butcher's stand, abandoned at this time of night. The only noise around him was coming from inside the saloon, which he walked into after tying Copper to one of the hitching posts that wasn't occupied by a horse. 

All eyes drifted to him as soon as he walked in, and Arthur hated it, but he swallowed down his anxiety and sidled up to the bar. The stares died down, for the most part, everyone deciding he wasn't that interesting, or that they had better things to pay attention to than a boy walking into a saloon past midnight. 

The bartender eventually noticed him, swirling a rag around the inside of a mug as he sized Arthur up. "You look a little young to be in here, kid. How old are you?"

"I don't want alcohol," Arthur replied. "I need information." He added quietly, slipped a five from his satchel and put it on the counter. The bartender glanced at it, looked back up at him, before casually sliding the five into his pocket. Arthur pulled his journal put and flipped to a page that had a sketch of Hosea. "You know this man?"

The bartender eyed the slightly better than crude sketch Arthur had drawn a little over a week ago at this point, brow creased. "Why, yes, I do. He comes in every now and then, lookin' for odd jobs 'round town."

"Do you know where he is?" Arthur asked next. The bartender shrugged. 

"I heard he lives to the north of town, but that's the best I got for ya. Why you looking for 'im? This feller a criminal?"

"No, he's my… Uncle." Arthur lied. Put his journal away, before he put another five on the counter. "Not a word of this to anyone."

The bartender nodded a little, before putting the other five in his pocket and going back to his work. Arthur all but sneaked out of the saloon, hoping he hadn't drawn too much attention to himself. Retrieved Copper from the hitching post he'd tied him to, before going back to Charlie and setting off. 

He felt odd getting a hotel room for himself but reasoned that it was better than camping again, especially as when he got to his room, he heard it start to rain outside. He almost felt bad for Mr. Austin. Almost. 

He took his boots off his feet for the first time in quite a while, took a look at his reflection in the mirror across from him and frowned. The fact that he'd been sleeping in the dirt the past few days (even more so than usual) was evident by all the dried mud on his skin. His hair was greasy, there was a twig in it here and there; he'd definitely have to get a bath before he left in the morning. 

For now, though, he had to update his journal. 

_ Haven't written in here since I left behind that bounty hunter, Mr. Austin, the other day. Me, Copper and Charlie have made it to Crimsondale, and I have a vague idea of where to look for Hosea and Bessie. I'll be leaving first thing in the morning to find them, but for now, I'm beat.  _

He could only put half his effort into a drawing of the main street of Crimsondale next to his entry, before slipping his journal and pencil back into his satchel, and blowing out the candle on the nightstand as he went to bed. 

~~~~~~~~~

Getting a bath for the first time in weeks felt nice, and Arthur never failed to appreciate soaking in a tub full of soapy, warm water. Loved the way he felt human again after a wash, how he could card his fingers through his hair without being disgusted at himself. 

What he didn't appreciate was awkwardly walking up to doors and introducing himself over and over, as he searched all over the north for where Hosea and Bessie lived. 

It probably would have been easier if he'd reminded himself to just look for their horses, Onyx and April in the first place, but as soon as he spotted the pair of steeds, there was no doubt in his mind that those were Hosea and Bessie's mounts. He hopped off Charlie's back, ran up to the door and took his hat off before rapping on the door a few times. 

Stood there and waited for what felt like an eternity, before the door opened and he met familiar green eyes for the first time in nearly five months. 

"Arthur?"

"Hello." And he felt a fool for the small grin that graced his face, but couldn't really help it. He'd been missing Hosea and Bessie more than he figured he'd be. 

"Come on in, dear." Mrs. Matthews told him with a smile of her own, stepping to the side as she opened the door to their home farther for him. Arthur stepped into the threshold, taking in the sight of the modest little place Hosea and Bessie had secured for themselves. 

Hosea was sitting on a crate, holding a newspaper he'd given up on reading since Bessie had uttered Arthur's name. The older man stood to his feet as Arthur entered. Bessie closed the door. "Arthur, what are you doing here?" 

"I was worried about you two," Arthur answered honestly. "Me and Dutch have been checkin' the mail day in and out for two months now, and we ain't heard from ya."

Hosea looked like he was considering how he was supposed to reply to that. Finally, he sighed, said, "Things ain't been goin' very well. We're barely scraping by, ain't got much time to write letters."

Looking around the tiny homestead, Arthur could definitely see that. The cabinets looked mostly bare, and there wasn't a lot of actual furniture. "Oh." He said, and only that because he couldn't think of anything to add. 

"Does Dutch know you're here? Did he come with you?" 

Arthur didn't like the look on Hosea's face when he said, "No, he ain't here. I, uh, left without his permission."

Hosea's expression only softened a little as he replied with, "Well, I'm glad you made it here alright."

"There's a feller after you and Dutch," Arthur added quickly, knowing there probably wouldn't be much time until James rode into Crimsondale and started asking around. Hosea's eyes grew a bit wide at hearing that. "That last bank job you and Dutch pulled in Riverton, one of y'all killed the brother of a bounty hunter there, Mr. Austin. He showed up to my camp the night after I left, and asked if I knew you guys, and I told him no. He knows you're in Crimsondale, and he's on his way here."

Bessie didn't seem to like this news, and Hosea just stood there dumbfounded for a moment before he asked, "When did you last see this bounty hunter?"

"The other day. We was riding together, but I left him, cuz I knew I had to get here and warn y'all before he showed up. I rode hard to get here, barely stopped for anything."

"Thank you, son," Hosea replied, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

"What're we gonna do?"

"I don't know quite yet," Hosea answered honestly. "I'm guessing Bessie and I are gonna have to leave Crimsondale… If one bounty hunter found us here, what's to stop another from doing the same?" Arthur only nodded, because that sounded reasonable. "I suppose we should start packing our things."

Bessie sighed in defeat. "It was nice to stay this close to a town, for as long as it lasted."

And with that, they all started packing the Matthews couple's stuff into the back of their wagon. 


	11. Back to Whiteridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending some time with Hosea and Bessie, Arthur has to go back to Dutch.

It took until after sundown to help Hosea and Bessie pack everything they owned. Arthur followed behind their wagon on Charlie as the three of them searched for somewhere to spend the night. 

After several minutes of riding down a small path, moonlight blocked by the trees overhead, they finally pulled into a small clearing Hosea said would suit their needs, if only for the night. With the tents up and a tiny fire, it looked a lot like one of their old camps.

Something was missing, though, or rather, someone. The same reason he hadn't left with Hosea and Bessie in the first place but hadn't felt right staying with Dutch, either. Without Dutch around, without Hosea and Bessie, it made no difference. He wanted all four of them to be together, and there wasn't any way for him to be satisfied otherwise. 

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. Dutch was miles away, and when Arthur left to go back to him, Hosea and Bessie would be. 

Lying on his bedroll that night, Arthur found it hard to fall asleep. Thoughts swirled around his head, making it impossible to find any peace. What if something happened to Dutch? What if he rode back to their camp just to find it and him gone? What if he never made it back to camp? What if he never heard from Hosea and Bessie again? There were so many things that could've happened to Dutch in the few days he'd been gone, so many things that could happen to him on the ride back, so many things that could happen even before then. 

And it's a good thing he stayed awake because not long after he'd started dozing off, he heard something. Blinking back awake, Arthur's hand immediately went to his gun. 

And then, damn the pup, because Copper started barking. 

"Copper! Shush!" Arthur scolded him above a whisper, not wanting whoever was out there hearing either of them. Based on the rustling that grew nearer to his tent and the shadow outside of it, Arthur assumed that was a lost cause now.

His brain didn't react quick enough to tell him to draw his gun, because a pair of arms suddenly reached inside the tent and grabbed a hold of Arthur. Dazed, Arthur cussed as he kicked up dirt and scrambled to break free of the arms restraining him. He was thrown to the ground not very graciously, and when he opened his eyes, he found a rifle pointed at his head, and a familiar face staring back at him. 

Mr. Austin the bounty hunter stood above him, a sneer on his lips. "Well, hello again, Mr. Marsh." He said, moved the barrel of the gun closer to his forehead as he looked around the small camp. "Found some new traveling companions, I see."

"Yeah, what of it?" Arthur asked with a scowl.  _ Play dumb _ , he reminded himself. There was no need to blow his cover until he knew what the bounty hunter was here for. 

"That black horse looks an awful lot like the one described by the Sheriff in Riverton. Believe he said that was Mr. Matthews' horse. And according to some fellers I asked, Mr. Matthews left Crimsondale with his wife and a young man fitting your description."

As if to make the situation worse, Hosea then stepped out of his and Bessie's tent, iron drawn. Mr. Austin kept his rifle trained on Arthur as his gaze snapped over to Hosea, and even from where he'd been in the dirt, Arthur could see the bounty hunter's scowl get worse. 

"Well, it looks like you  _ do _ know Mr. Matthews."

"Let the boy go, right now," Hosea told James, tone steady and firm.

"Why should I?" Mr. Austin replied, drew his revolver before putting his rifle on his back. He gripped up on Arthur's arm and pulled him to his feet, then shoved the barrel of the gun against his temple. 

The word 'terrified' was too weak a word to describe how he felt with cold iron against his forehead, but it was just about the only thing to come to Arthur's mind in those moments. Thinking back, the word 'petrified' comes a little closer, but still not quite. 

"Come with me quietly, or the kid gets it!" Mr. Austin threatened. "I'll shoot 'im right here and now, don't think I won't!"

Arthur shot a glance Hosea's way, hoping to convey what he wanted to say without actually speaking.  _ Just run _ , he wanted to tell Hosea. He knew just by the look the older outlaw gave him back that he had gotten the message, and had no intention of listening to it. 

"Alright," Hosea said quietly, then set his gun on the ground, and raised his hands in surrender; Arthur only just held back the urge to shake his head in protest as he remembered the gun pressed to his temple. Hosea started walking slowly to the bounty hunter as Arthur gave him another pleading look. Hosea ignored it. 

On his hip, Arthur felt the steady weight of his own weapon, fingers flexing as he decided whether or not to act. 

It all happened in a span of a few seconds, but it felt like time had stopped entirely. He unholstered his revolver and clicked the hammer back in one movement, before spinning on his heel and aiming. In a rush to get a shot in, Arthur's aim suffered for it, and Mr. Austin was only shot in the shoulder. Stumbling back with a pained growl, the bounty hunter gripped his shoulder in pain, before a murderous look overtook his face. 

He was just about to lunge at Arthur until Hosea got in the way and threw a left hook that just about knocked the bounty hunter silly. Mr. Austin was going to reach for his gun, which had slipped out of his hand to the ground where he now lay before Arthur stepped on his injured shoulder. The bounty hunter gave a yowl, and Arthur aimed his revolver at the man's head. 

Instead of whatever Arthur expected to come out of his mouth, Mr. Austin began to laugh, like it was all some big joke to him. Arthur must have looked as perplexed as he'd felt, because the bounty hunter said, "Go on, shoot me! You ain't got the balls!"

Hosea had retrieved his own gun by then, and he stood on the other side of Arthur, proceeded to aim his sights at the bounty hunter's head, as well. "Do you want me to take over, Arthur?"

Arthur had never heard Hosea speak so coldly, but he shoved that thought to the back of his head as Mr. Austin spat, "So, you even lied to me about your name, huh, kid?"

"Yeah, I did," Arthur replied bitterly. "It's Arthur Morgan. And I ain't a kid."

Mr. Austin had laughed some more at that, and Arthur felt his frown pull down even more. It was a bit frustrating, Arthur mused, to have someone entirely at your mercy laughing at you. Like he wasn't even a threat, as far as the bounty hunter was concerned. James only stopped laughing to flash a dangerous grin up at him and Hosea, before he said, "I'll see you in Hell, then, Mr. Morgan."

_ BANG _ . Hosea pulled the trigger, and faster than Arthur could blink, Mr. Austin the bounty hunter had a hole in his head, right between the eyes. The numb look on Hosea's face told the whole story, and Arthur had recalled what the older man had said to him so many months ago. 

_ "Killing is a necessary evil, Arthur. I don't like it, Dutch doesn't, neither, and you obviously never will. But, it is necessary for survival. Folks try to kill other folks, and there's nothin' we can do about it except take them out before they can us." _

The way Hosea's eyes downcast as he holstered his iron, and how he looked away from Bessie when she'd finally stepped out their tent anxiously to see if the situation had been dealt with; it spoke volumes of how much Hosea wished killing wasn't necessary. 

Arthur clicked the hammer of his own gun back into place before holstering it. "Would you help me get rid of the body, Arthur?" Hosea asked. Arthur only nodded, taking Mr. Austin's legs as Hosea grabbed his arms. The pair took the body far away from camp before dumping it in the woods and walking back. 

None of them got any additional sleep that night. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was at its highest point in the sky, so Arthur didn't need to check his pocket watch to know it was about noon. Just after sunrise, he and the Matthews couple had packed up their tiny camp and started traveling again, with the intention of finding a new home for Hosea and Bessie. 

They eventually stumbled across an abandoned cabin, which Hosea had deemed live-able, and the three of them started unpacking in relative silence. It took until rather late in the day to get everything off the wagon and into the small homestead, so Arthur was spending one more night with them before heading back to Dutch. 

As he sat and drew in his journal after supper, Bessie decided to break the tense silence between the three of them as she said, "Arthur, honey, your hair is getting really long. Would you like me to cut it for you?"

Arthur nodded, remembering how annoyed he'd been lately with his bangs in his eyes. "Sure."

As he watched bits of hair fall to the floor, Arthur tried to piece together his feelings about last night. The cold tone of Hosea's voice, the numb look on the older man's face. How the bounty hunter seemed so ready to die after finding one of the crooks he'd been looking for. How he laughed in the face of danger, and those last chilling words he spoke. 

_ "I'll see you in Hell, then, Mr. Morgan." _

Arthur wasn't religious by any means, but he certainly hoped there wasn't a Hell. He never wanted to see that horrible man ever again, in this life or another. 

When Bessie was done cutting Arthur's hair, he thanked her, took a look in the pocket mirror she handed him and was okay with what he saw looking back at him. She hadn't done anything real fancy, just a trim, but Arthur appreciated it nonetheless. At least his hair wouldn't be in his face all the time. 

"Arthur," Hosea called, and Arthur looked up from the pocket mirror at the older man. "Would you like to go on a ride with me?"

Arthur nodded as he handed the mirror back to Bessie, before grabbing his hat and putting it on his head. "Of course."

"Be safe, boys," Bessie called to them as they exited the cabin. It was dark, the sun having set hours ago. There was a chill on the wind, and Arthur was once again thankful for the jacket he was wearing. 

Hosea and Arthur mounted their steeds and went off, only the moon and their lanterns to light their way. Arthur had always liked going on rides with Hosea, he greatly appreciated the older man's company and guidance. Which is why he found himself in a bit of a weird place as he rode behind Hosea; happy for the familiarity, but also sad, knowing that this might be the last time he got to spend time with him. 

Knowing he could leave tomorrow, and never hear from Hosea or Bessie ever again. 

Pushing Charlie forward as to ride alongside Hosea, Arthur studied the older man's face. He looked tired, although Arthur assumed they all were, after barely any sleep last night, and then burning the candle at both ends all day. 

"You okay, Hosea?"

The older outlaw sighed, hesitated before he answered with, "Yes, I'm fine." He turned his head to look at Arthur. "Are you okay?"

Arthur shrugged. "Yeah, I think so." Hosea nodded in reply to him, and silence stretched between them for a moment more before Arthur finally decided to speak up again. "Hosea?"

"Yes, Arthur?" 

"Are… You and Bessie ever comin' back?"

Hosea looked at him again, and even in the relative darkness, Arthur could clearly see the sorrow on his face. "I don't know." He answered honestly.

"Why'd you two have to leave, anyway?" Arthur then asked, not even trying to disguise how upset he was. 

"She wasn't happy living on the run," Hosea answered. "And I can't be happy unless she is."

More silence, only the sound of owls, coyote howls, and the steady trot of their horses filling the air. "Dutch and I don't get along very well."

"I had a feeling that would be the case."

"He's probably gonna be pissed at me when I get back," Arthur added, vividly remembering just how angry Dutch had been as their argument had continued. The way his voice lowered to an aggressive tone, his eyebrows pulling down, his nose crinkling.  <strike> How much he'd reminded Arthur of his father in those moments. </strike>

"You're still welcome to stay with us," Hosea said, and Arthur shook his head. 

"I don't wanna leave Dutch all alone." Even though the man was entirely capable of taking care of himself, it still felt wrong to even think about leaving him. It'd be a bit like stabbing him in the back. 'Hey, thanks for saving my life and teaching me how to take care of myself, but I'm leaving now. Have fun having no one at your side.'

It felt too cruel. Just because he didn't always agree with Dutch didn't mean the man deserved to be alone. 

"I just want all of us together again, y'know?" He added quietly, looking away when Hosea glanced his way. 

"I know, son," Hosea replied a moment later with a sigh. "Believe me, I know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting himself all packed up to leave felt horrible. Arthur couldn't imagine anything worse. 

He'd shoved the last of his belongings in his satchel, put Copper into one of Charlie's saddlebags. Technically speaking, he was ready to leave. Emotionally speaking, not so much. 

As he finished brushing and feeding Charlie, he looked to Hosea and Bessie, who stood on the porch watching him. They looked just as miserable as he felt. 

"Guess I'm all packed," Arthur said, walking back up onto the porch. "Where should we send our letters to?"

"Send them to Redbank, under the name Henry Mathias," Hosea replied. "Redbank is about a day's ride from here. I'll be checking the mailbox every week."

"Okay," Arthur said. He went to turn to leave. 

"Arthur, wait a moment," Bessie called to him, and Arthur stopped where he was, turned back around and closed the small amount of distance between her and himself. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled into a hug, which he returned back, resting his chin on her shoulder as she squeezed him tightly. 

When she finally pulled away, Bessie cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. She gave him a small smile, and he returned it back. "Be safe, dear."

"I'll try," Arthur replied. He then turned to Hosea and beat the older man to the punch as he wrapped his arms around him. Hosea reciprocated the gesture, making sure as they pulled away from each other to muss up Arthur's hair, which he couldn't even get mad about. 

"As she said, be safe, son," Hosea said. Arthur nodded before walking off the porch and mounting up, pulling his hat out of Charlie's saddlebag and putting it on his head. 

"I'll miss you two." He said honestly, not yet wanting to leave but knowing he had to. 

"We'll miss you, too, honey," Bessie said, equal parts fondness and melancholy in her tone. "Send our best to Dutch."

Arthur nodded, then tipped his hat to them. "I will."

"Goodbye, Arthur." 

"Bye Hosea, Bessie."

With a heavy heart, Arthur spurred Charlie into a light trot and began heading back to Whiteridge. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The trip back took about three and a half days. Arthur had started running out of provisions the day before he got back but luckily made up for it with some hunting. Charlie'd still had lots of carrots leftover, and Arthur was more than happy to share the rabbit he'd killed with Copper. 

It was nearing sunset on the third day when he slowly rode into camp, which thankfully was still there. At first glance, he didn't see Dutch, but upon dismounting and stepping further into camp, he saw the man sitting outside his tent, a book in hand and a lit cigar hanging out of his mouth. 

Arthur stayed at the edge of camp, heart racing a little. How mad was Dutch at him? Normal mad, or scary mad? He couldn't tell from where he'd been standing. He wrung his hands together, and noticing they were a bit sweaty, he wiped them on his jeans. Taking a deep breath in, then out, Arthur began walking towards Dutch. 

He stopped just a few feet away from the slightly older outlaw, and though Dutch did not look up from his book, Arthur felt the rage coming off of his mentor. 

"I'm back," Arthur said quietly, hating the long silence that followed his own voice. 

"So, you are." And Dutch's voice was cold like he didn't give a single shit at all whether Arthur was here or not. 

Thinning his lips into a line, Arthur mustered up some nerve before saying, "You can be mad at me all you want, but I had to go."

Dutch, once again, didn't say anything for a really long moment. Finally, he looked up from his book, closed it and put it on the small table next to him as he stood to his feet. Crossing his arms, the older man started towards Arthur and stopped only a foot or so away. 

When Dutch would get mad at Arthur just after they'd found him, Dutch would have to lean down a little to make eye contact with Arthur; those days were long gone now, as Arthur was almost as tall as the older man, and only had to tilt his head up a little to see eye to eye with him- physically speaking, that is. 

"Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you're in, young man?" Dutch asked, and Arthur had to scoff. 

"Quit it with that." The teen spat back. 

"Excuse me?"

"Stop treating me like I'm a child." 

Dutch gave a dark chuckle. "Oh, alright, then, Mr. Adult." And Arthur felt his expression sour some more at that. "Since you're so mature now, why don't you just leave?"

"Leave?" Arthur practically sputtered, felt his legs shaking a little. 

"Sure, go on! Get outta here!" He said, turning his back to Arthur as he struck a match against his boot. He lit the cigar still hanging out his mouth as he added, "Since you're such an adult now,  _ surely _ you can take care of yourself."

"Well, sure I can take care of myself, but I don't wanna be out there alone!" Arthur exclaimed. He felt the world closing in on him; if Dutch was serious about making him leave, Arthur knew for sure it would only be a matter of time until solitude screwed him over. 

It was Dutch's turn to scoff now, it seemed. "Tch, you should've thought about that before you claimed to be a grown-up."

Anger overtook fear, and Arthur clenched his fists together as he yelled, "You know, you could be dead right now if it weren't for me!"

"Oh, yeah?" Dutch laughed. "How's that?"

"There was a feller after you and Hosea." That seemed to pique Dutch's interest, but even as his head raised to attention, he still kept his back turned to Arthur. "He was a bounty hunter. He stumbled across me the night after I left here, and I had to end up lying to and ditching him to go warn Hosea. If I hadn't done so, he coulda killed Hosea, and then come looking for you."

Turning around finally, Dutch asked in the calmest tone since this conversation started, "Where is this bounty hunter, now?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, if there is such a thing."

Dutch pondered that answer for a minute before he asked, gaze averted, "How are Hosea and Bessie?"

"They're okay, I guess. They told me to send you their best."

"Why haven't they been writing to us?"

"Hosea said things haven't been going too well for them," Arthur answered. "They're barely scraping by, letter writing is probably the last thing on their minds."

"Hm." Dutch hummed in reply. Then he sighed, a long, tired sounding thing. "You had me worried sick, Arthur." He then said, and Arthur couldn't find it in himself to look away as Dutch stared at him. "I told you not to go because I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"I came back in one piece, didn't I?... Well, I almost didn't, but-"

"What do you mean, you almost didn't?" 

Arthur scuffed his boot against the dirt, eyes downcast as he replied, "That feller, the bounty hunter, found our camp, and stuck his gun to my head."

"Jesus Christ, Arthur!"

"But he didn't get to do anything! I shot him in the shoulder, and then Hosea shot him in the head!"

Dutch scrubbed at his face with his free hand, and Arthur then noticed the dark circles under his mentor's eyes. Suddenly, he felt bad. As Dutch pulled his hand away, his exhaustion was even more prevalent in how bloodshot his eyes were, how messy his hair was. 

"I'm sorry." Arthur finally said.

"You'd better be," Dutch said with a bit of a growl. "Don't run off like that on your own, not ever again. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Arthur replied quietly. 

He nearly flinched away as Dutch went to put a hand on his shoulder. "You're not hurt, are you, son?" Dutch asked gently. 

"No, I'm fine." Shaken still from the memory of cold iron against his temple, but otherwise intact.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." The teen answered. 

"Good…" Dutch muttered. 

The rest of the night was relatively quiet. They ate dinner, of which Arthur shared a good half of his portion with Copper. After eating, Dutch told of a lady he'd met in town while Arthur was away. 

"She's absolutely wonderful." The older man went on. "I've never met a woman with so much fire before."

"What's her name?" Arthur asked, curious about the lady who had quite obviously stolen Dutch's heart. 

"Susan," Dutch replied. "I'm gonna ask her to join us before we leave Whiteridge when the weather gets colder."

They talked for a little while longer before Dutch said it was time for him to hit the sack. Picking up the spare rifle they kept around for guard duty, Arthur sat on a rock near the entrance of camp. He hadn't gotten to update his journal since before the night Mr. Austin attacked them, having been too focused on helping Hosea and Bessie, and then on getting back to Dutch. 

So, he pulled his lantern, pencil, and journal out, then began to write. 

_ Mr. Austin the bounty hunter found us, despite my best efforts. Hosea and I dealt with him eventually, though I suppose I'm still a little shaken up over having a gun pointed at my head.  _

_ Hosea, Bessie and I found a new place for them to live, and I spent one more night with them. Bessie cut my hair for me, and Hosea and I went on a ride. I already miss them both something awful, and it's only been a handful of days.  _

_ I left them the day after that and just got back to Dutch a few hours ago. I got yelled at a little, but he was more worried than mad at me. He told me about a woman he met while I was gone. Her name is Susan, and Dutch is gonna ask her to ride with us when we leave the area for winter. We shall see, I guess. _

After writing the entry, he tried sketching the bounty hunter from memory, along with Hosea, Bessie, and Dutch, writing their respective names under the doodles. Satisfied, he put his stuff away and continued to remain vigilant for the rest of his guard duty shift. 

When he and Dutch finally switched out, Arthur dragged himself back to his tent and collapsed on his cot, not even bothering to take his boots off before falling asleep right then and there. 


	12. New and Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face, and an old one.

There was a bounce in Arthur's step and a grin on his face as he walked into camp, having just come back from the post office. He and Dutch had both gotten a letter from Hosea and Bessie, after a week of waiting around, wondering when they'd hear from the couple next. 

"You seem to be in a good mood," Dutch observed as he sipped some coffee from his cup. Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled the letters out before handing Dutch the one addressed to him. 

"Hosea and Bessie finally wrote us." He replied happily, sitting on the log next to Dutch before tearing the envelope open. Two separate letters, one from Hosea, the other from Bessie. Arthur pulled the one from Bessie out first. 

_ Dearest Arthur,  _

_ I hope that you and Dutch are doing well. Hosea and I are doing fine in our new home, or so I think. He's taken to working at a nearby ranch, and while the pay isn't great, it's enough for us. _

_ As for me, I haven't been really doing much. Being as far from any type of civilization as we are, I can't really find any work myself. Mostly, I've been practicing my shooting, and Hosea says I'm getting to be a pretty good shot.  _

_ I apologize for my letter being so short, but I really don't have much else to say. Hosea and I miss you a lot, and we hope to see you again soon.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Bessie _

Arthur smiled a little as he finished reading the letter, then folded it up and slipped it back into the envelope before pulling out Hosea's letter. 

_ Arthur,  _

_ It's only been a day since you left, and already I feel compelled to write to you. I apologize for the lack of letters up until you came to see us, as I told you, things weren't going very well for us, and the last thing on my mind was putting pen to paper. Still, I should not have let that much time pass in between, and I hope you know it had nothing to do with you.  _

_ I miss you and Dutch something fierce, but as I told you when you were here, I can't be happy unless my wife is, and that lifestyle didn't particularly take her fancy. Still, I find myself growing bored with trying to be a decent person, or a normal person, or however anyone would look at it.  _

_ I hope you and Dutch are doing well, despite our absence. By the time you get this letter, you should be back with him again. I also hope he didn't give you too much guff for running off like that, though I'm sure he did. If he did, I'm positive it was out of concern, rather than anger. He's not the best at showing it, but he does care about you, as do Bessie and I.  _

_ We miss you very dearly, make no mistake about it. Take care, son.  _

_ Regards,  _

_ Hosea _

As he finished reading, Arthur slipped the letter back in its envelope, then put it in his satchel. Then, he took out his pencil and a piece of paper and began writing back. 

_ Dear Bessie and Hosea,  _

_ I made it home in one piece, thankfully. Dutch and I have been waiting a week, and only just got your letters today.  _

_ He was pretty angry at me when I got back, but we soon worked it out. I've been doing extra chores to make up for my little stunt, but I don't mind it really. Chopping firewood, cleaning camp, taking care of the horses, it's all becoming second nature at this point.  _

_ Dutch met a lady while I was away, said her name was Susan and that he'd be asking her to come with us when we left this area for the winter. He says we're moving to somewhere a little closer to where y'all are in Redbank, so maybe we might come visit sometime soon.  _

_ I'm glad to hear that you two are doing a little better where you are now. I'm sure with all the practice Bessie's getting in with her shooting that she's probably better than I am at this point. What's working on a ranch like, Hosea? I've always heard ranch work was exhausting and miserable, though I'm sure you've found a way to breathe some life into even the most mundane of tasks.  _

_ I really hope Dutch and I visit y'all sometime soon. It's only been a little over a week, and I already miss you both a ton. I wish you the best of luck going forward.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Arthur _

Satisfied with what he'd written, Arthur shoved the letter into his satchel, reminding himself to send it off sometime soon. 

By the time he had read both letters and written a response back, Dutch had finished reading his own letters, shoved them in his satchel as he stood to his feet and stretched with a yawn. Then he asked, "Would you like to ride with me to town, Arthur?"

"I just came back from town." Arthur reminded him as if it weren't obvious. "Why, what's in town?"

"Well, you remember that lady I told you about, Susan?" Arthur nodded in reply. "She told me I should come visit her at her homestead, I was thinking you should meet her a while, in case she ends up joining us."

"But, shouldn't we not leave camp unattended?"

"Ah, screw it. I left camp unattended plenty of times while you were away, and nothin' ever went missing." Dutch's eyes drifted to where Copper stood, barking up a tree at a squirrel. "Besides, I'm sure that pup of yours would at least make a decent guard dog, considering he's not good at much else."

Arthur shrugged, deciding Dutch probably wouldn't give up on this endeavor; he'd be lying if he were to say he didn't wanna meet the lady who'd stolen Dutch's heart. "Alright."

~~~~~~~~~~~

As they rode up to a modest-looking homestead just outside of town, Dutch checked his map. "Yup, this should be the place." He said, before hopping off The Duke and hitching him to a post. Arthur followed suit, giving Charlie an apple and a few pats on the neck before joining Dutch on the porch. As the older outlaw knocked on the door and removed his hat, Arthur copied that motion as well. 

The door opened, and a lady stood there. Based on the grin that stretched across Dutch's lips, Arthur assumed this was the Susan he'd kept hearing about. 

"Mr. Van der Linde, what a pleasant surprise." She said to him with a smile of her own. She had dark brown hair that fell on her shoulders, and blue-green eyes, much like Arthur's own, that stood against ivory white skin. She was wearing makeup, but it was subtle. 

"Miss Grimshaw." Dutch greeted her back, looking at her like she was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. 

"And who's this you've brought with you?" Miss Grimshaw asked as she looked at Arthur. A little shy, Arthur averted his gaze to the ground as Dutch put a hand on his shoulder. 

"His name is Arthur. He's my… Student, for lack of a better word."

"Hello, miss." Arthur greeted quietly. 

"Why don't you gentlemen come in?" Susan said, holding the door open for them. They walked into the house, greeted by the sight of simple, but cute decor. "Make yourselves at home."

Sitting next to Dutch on the couch, Arthur left his hat to lay in his lap as he looked around. "Would you boys like anything? Coffee, tea?"

"Some coffee for me, if you wouldn't mind," Dutch said. 

"What about you, young man?" Miss Grimshaw asked. Arthur shook his head. 

"I'm alright, thank you."

Susan made a sort of satisfied hum, pouring some coffee in a cup that she handed to Dutch as she said, "Well mannered little gentleman, ain't he?"

Dutch chuckled a bit as he replied, "Oh, don't call him little. It annoys him to no end."

"You said he's your student? I didn't know you were a teacher, Dutch."

"Well, he's more like… An adopted son." Dutch said, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Found him all on his own a little over a year ago."

"Really?" Susan asked, eyes a little wider as she looked at Arthur. Arthur nodded in reply. "Well, now, what was a young boy like you doing out there all on your own?"

"Just barely surviving," Dutch answered her. "Poor boy didn't even know how to make a proper fire when we found him."

"'We'?"

Arthur looked at Dutch a little confused-like. Did she not know…? "Ah, yes, well, a friend of mine and his wife had been traveling with us for some time. They left us a few months ago, unfortunately."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Susan replied sincerely as she finally made herself comfortable, sitting down in a wicker chair across from them. "How old are you, Arthur?"

"Sixteen," Arthur replied. 

"Has Dutch taught you a lot?"

Arthur thought about that for a moment. The number of things Dutch had taught him hadn't been very numerous, but arguably the quality of those lessons had been pretty good. "I guess so." Arthur shrugged. "He taught me to read, and write, to shoot a gun and defend myself."

"The boy's a natural," Dutch said with a wide smile. Then he looked at Arthur and said, "Oh, you should show her some of your drawings, Arthur!"

"You taught him to draw, as well?"

"No, that was one of the things he taught himself," Dutch answered. "Well, go on, Arthur, don't be shy!"

A little embarrassed, but not wanting to make a big fuss out of anything, Arthur pulled his journal out of his satchel and flipped a few pages to a drawing he'd done semi-recently of Charlie and The Duke. "I'm not  _ that _ good." He denied as he passed the open journal to her. "I just find it fun, is all."

"Nonsense, this is wonderful." She said as she stared at the drawing. "Do you mind if I…?" She motioned to the journal. Arthur gave her a gesture that said, 'go ahead', and so she did, flipping past pages with doodles and flowing cursive, only looking at the pages with Arthur's artwork, rather than the scrawlings that held his personal thoughts. "You have a real talent, young man." She said with a smile as she flipped through. 

"Well, thank you." He replied as he felt his face go a little red. She handed him back the journal and giggled a little at how flustered he was before the conversation went on. 

They mostly talked about him the rest of the afternoon, which was a bit uncomfortable, but Arthur managed. When they finally left her homestead later that day, Arthur brought up a sneaking suspicion he'd had ever since Dutch had brought up the sob story of how he and Hosea had found Arthur in the first place. 

"You only brought me to meet her to impress her, didn't you?"

And Dutch shot Arthur a grin. 

"It worked, didn't it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr. Morgan!" 

_ Oh boy, here we go again. _

"Yes, Miss Grimshaw?"

"You look absolutely filthy!" Miss Grimshaw scolded hands on her hips and a large scowl on her face. "When was the last time you washed?"

Arthur shrugged. "I dunno, a week, maybe two?"

"Disgusting!" She screeched. "Take yourself into town and go get a bath right away, mister!"

With a sigh, Arthur tipped his hat to her. "Yes, Miss Grimshaw."

He walked out of the cabin and mounted Charlie, spurring the horse towards town. 

It was November, and Arthur could tell by the chill that his jacket didn't protect him against that he'd need to bring out his winter coat soon. He pulled a bandana Dutch had recently given him out of his satchel and wrapped it around his face to keep the cold from nipping at his nose and ears as he kept riding towards the new town they were camped near, by the name of Goldburg. About a two and a half day's ride from Redbank. 

Miss Grimshaw had joined them around the middle of October, apparently not minding the prospect of living with an outlaw. They'd found a cabin much bigger than the one the four of them had lived in last winter, which was a crying shame considering it meant one of the rooms remained unused; a bit of a waste, but Dutch had insisted it was the right place for them, being just far away enough from town, but also just close enough. Arthur didn't dare argue. 

Miss Grimshaw was a wonderful lady, but she was nothing like Bessie. Bessie was kind, and sweet, while Susan was all piss and vinegar. She even scared Dutch sometimes. Arthur could tell how Dutch had never met a woman with so much fire before; Miss Grimshaw was a blazing inferno of rage. 

But she cared about the both of them, that much was obvious. 

After getting a bath at the hotel in Goldburg, Arthur decided to go check the mail. He hitched Charlie up outside and walked up to the clerk. "Excuse me, mister?" He said, getting the clerk's attention. 

"Name?" The clerk said impatiently. 

"Arthur Morgan."

The post office clerk looked around, seemingly not finding anything. "No, sir, nothing for an Arthur Morgan here."

He frowned. "Try Dutch van der Linde."

Another few moments of looking through letters, before the clerk said, "Nothing here for a Dutch van der Linde, either."

His shoulders dropped a little along with his mood as Arthur tipped his hat to the clerk. "Thank you."  _ For nothing _ , he didn't say as he walked out of the post office. 

It'd been almost a month since either of them had heard from Hosea or Bessie. Arthur knew for a fact that he and Dutch had both told them in their letters just before they left Whiteridge to direct future mail to Goldburg, so why was there still nothing at the post office? Had something happened to them? Were they sick of Arthur and Dutch? Was he overthinking it again, and they just didn't have the time? 

Regardless, Arthur was right back to where he was a few months ago, missing Bessie and Hosea an awful lot, now that he hadn't heard back from them in a while. 

Dutch hadn't seemed phased. He had Susan to keep him company, after all. And Arthur could hear through the thin cabin walls that she was definitely good company for him. 

It wasn't like he didn't know what they were doing. His father had brought home enough ladies for Arthur to know exactly what Dutch and Susan were up to. Arthur would simply try his best to block it out, stuffing his ears with cotton, waiting a while to check if the coast was clear, and if it weren't, shoving the cotton back in his ears again until it was. 

Watching them do normal coupley stuff just made Arthur wish Hosea and Bessie were around even more. The way Dutch would bring Susan really nice gifts after a successful robbery was similar to the way Hosea had done the same for his wife. Whether Dutch did it of his own accord or had picked the habit up from Hosea subconsciously, Arthur had no idea, and frankly, he didn't much care. 

It was great and all that Dutch had found someone who made him feel less lonely. The slightly older outlaw had definitely seemed happier and brighter since Susan joined them a few weeks ago. Arthur just wished he wasn't feeling so lonely right now. 

When he got back home, Arthur hitched Charlie, brushed, fed and gave him a few pats before trudging into the cabin, where Copper was there to greet him. The excitable pup hopped up and tried to knock Arthur over as he yipped, tail wagging, but even he was only so much company. Petting the canine with a sigh, Arthur could only muster so much enthusiasm as he said, "Hey, boy."

"Something the matter, Arthur?" Dutch asked from where he was sitting, looking over a map. 

"Nothin' in the mail again," Arthur replied. 

"I'm sure we'll hear from them soon," Dutch said. "Just be patient."

Arthur sighed, walking over to Dutch and looking at the map with him. "Whatcha plannin'?"

"Stagecoach robbery," Dutch answered. "Apparently, there'll be a coach coming through here," he pointed on the map to a road, "three days from now, transporting a rich couple to their new home near Redbank. Supposed to be a good deal of loot in the back."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, before gathering up the courage to ask, "You need any help?"

Dutch looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Are you asking to come on a job?"

"Well, yeah," Arthur replied sheepishly. He hated how Dutch looked at him as though he were speaking in tongues. "I mean, it sounds like an easy enough job-"

"So, why would I need help?"

Arthur frowned a bit. "Come on, Dutch. I know how to fight, and shoot a gun now, I can help."

"There's a whole lot more to outlawing than fighting and shooting," Dutch replied. 

"You said it's close to Redbank, right? That's near where Hosea and Bessie are." Arthur said. "We could go visit them afterward, and-"

"And bring any law followin' us right to them?" Dutch interrupted. "Get off it, Arthur. The answer is no."

A mix between a frustrated growl and a defeated sigh came from Arthur as he went to his room, shutting the door behind himself with a bit of a slam. He plopped down on his bed with a huff, looking out the window. 

He was so sick of being treated like he was weak. Dutch still acted as though he were the same helpless fourteen-year-old boy he'd been when he joined them. But he wasn't, he knew he wasn't. He was bigger, stronger, smarter now than he'd been a year and a half ago. Plenty able to take care of himself, just as capable of lending a helping hand. 

He supposed it didn't matter. Dutch had said no, and this wasn't a situation where he could just go behind the older outlaw's back like he'd done to go visit Hosea and Bessie. And sneaking off like that again wouldn't be wise, considering he promised not to. 

So, he was stuck staying in this cabin, missing Bessie and Hosea, wishing he could be helpful. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur hadn't been sleeping very well as of late. Nightmares continued to plague him, and though they weren't as scary as they'd once been, he still couldn't help but wake up in a cold sweat. 

Tonight was a particularly bad one. He seemed to have a dream similar to this a lot recently. Being fourteen again, out on his own. The dream would start off the same way every time, with Arthur huddled in front of a sad excuse of a not-fire. As much as he tried to get it to turn into a fire, it just wouldn't. The dream would progress with snow starting to fall down, and Arthur would shuffle himself closer to the burning embers, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivered violently. 

Then the dream would morph. The weather would be normal again, but Arthur would be looking down at himself, watching his ribs become more visible, his arms turn to skinny twigs. He could almost feel himself sinking in. 

It would morph again. A band of armed strangers without faces, just dark shadows of men gripping up on him. He'd kick, flail and struggle as a gun was put against his forehead. They'd pull the trigger-

And Arthur woke up, gasping for air as he scrambled to sit up in bed. Becoming aware of the fact that he'd been dreaming, that he was awake now, and alive, and there weren't any masked strangers holding a gun to his head. He wasn't freezing or starving to death. He wasn't defenseless. 

Taking a few shaky breaths to steady himself, Arthur laid back down and went back to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just like last winter, boredom was Arthur's biggest enemy. 

Whenever the weather was too bad to go on a ride, he'd be stuck inside. Sometimes he'd read, write or draw, sometimes he'd play with Copper or help Susan out with chores. Either way, he felt cooped up. 

Dutch was still pulling jobs by himself, and he still wouldn't let Arthur help. It became more and more frustrating as time went on, a constant reminder that Dutch still didn't view him as capable. 

Staring out the window on a particularly snowy December day, Arthur sighed. He pulled the most recent letter from Hosea out of his satchel, re-reading it for probably the twentieth time since he'd received it last week. 

_ Arthur,  _

_ I apologize again for not writing back very often. Bessie and I had to move again recently, as someone in the local saloon seemed to recognize me from Crimsondale. We've not yet found another place to live, and we are running out of money pretty quickly.  _

The letter went on as Hosea explained that they were somewhere between the states of New Hanover and Ambarino. That they didn't have anywhere for Arthur to send letters to, as they were still running. 

Looking at a map, Arthur determined that Ambarino and New Hanover were both very far away. It made him miss the couple, even more, knowing they were so far away and that he couldn't even send them letters right now. 

What happened if they didn't write again until after he, Dutch and Susan left Goldburg? Arthur wouldn't be able to let them know, not knowing where they were, and he wouldn't get their letters if they went too far from Goldburg to the point where Arthur couldn't check the post office. It would mean never seeing or hearing from Bessie and Hosea ever again. He dreaded to think about it. 

He was about to stew on that thought a while longer before he saw something out the window; a single rider on a horse. With the distance, and the snow blocking his view, he assumed it was Dutch, returning from another successful heist. He put on his coat and stood on the porch, straining his eyes against the snowfall to see. 

When the rider got closer, Arthur could see that it wasn't The Duke, but a black Tennessee Walker. 

His eyes widened as Hosea's figure came into view. 

"Arthur!" And it was him, it was Hosea! A wide grin spread across Arthur's face as he took off towards Hosea and Onyx. 

Hosea soon reached the hitching post, hopping off of Onyx just as Arthur reached him. Arthur nearly knocked Hosea over as he hugged him. "Well, hello to you, too, son." The older man said with an amused tone. He returned Arthur's hug, only pulling away when the teen did.

"How did you find us?" Arthur asked, still not quite believing Hosea was right here in front of him again. 

"I just kept riding around the area til I spotted Charlie," Hosea replied, pointing at Arthur's horse. "Where's Dutch?"

"He's out on a job. Should be back soon." Arthur answered. "Let's go inside, it's freezing out here."

"Sounds fine by me," Hosea said, and the pair walked into the cabin. 

"Miss Grimshaw ain't here either." Arthur felt the need to add as he and Hosea sat in front of the fireplace. "She's in town gettin' supplies."

"I'm looking forward to meeting her. Dutch has written to me about her a few times. I'm told she's quite the woman."

"She's somethin', alright." Arthur agreed. Hosea chuckled in amusement. Then, Arthur noticed something. Something missing. "Where's Bessie?"

Hosea sighed at that question. "It's a long story." He answered. "I'd rather tell it when Dutch gets back."

"Oh. Okay…" Arthur said. "She's okay, right?"

"Yes, she's fine," Hosea said. "Don't worry."

They talked for a while, Hosea telling of their struggle to stay in one place for very long. How work was hard to come by, and they'd been barely making ends meet. He also told of how good a shot Bessie was getting to be, which Arthur was glad to hear. 

They were beginning to talk of some of the places Hosea had been when they heard the front door open. Arthur and Hosea both swiveled their heads to see who had entered, to see Dutch standing in the doorway, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide. 

Hosea stood from the stool he'd been sitting on, gave the younger man a smile and said, "Hello, Dutch."

"Hosea." The way Dutch's voice shook a little around the older outlaw's name spoke volumes of just how much he'd missed him. Arthur saw it the entire time Hosea had been gone; Dutch lost his spark for a while there. At first, Arthur wondered if it was because Dutch had missed having Hosea around for an extra set of hands, but as time went on, it was clear that wasn't the case. 

Robbing wasn't any fun for Dutch without the man he called a brother by his side, Arthur guessed. 

Dutch closed the door and dropped the sack of stolen riches he'd been carrying to the floor, walking over to Hosea and capturing the older man in a tight hug; Hosea gladly reciprocated. 

As they pulled away, Dutch put his hands on Hosea's shoulders with a bit of a giddy chuckle. "Oh, I've missed you, dear friend."

"I've missed you, as well," Hosea replied, still smiling. With all the positive energy in the room, Arthur couldn't help but smile himself. 

"Why'd it take so long for you to come visit, then?" Dutch asked, trying to seem annoyed as he slapped Hosea's arm, but the grin on his face betrayed any annoyance he would have hoped to convey. 

"I ain't visiting. I'm back for good." Hosea replied, then added, "If you'll have me, of course."

"What a silly thing to imply, that I wouldn't take you back," Dutch said. "Of course, we'll have you!" 

Then he took pause, looked around the room, before asking Hosea, "Where's Bessie?"

And that wiped the smile off Hosea's face. Hazel eyes downcast as he replied, "She ain't coming."

"What, why?" Arthur finally chimed in, having not been told that during their talk. He knew Bessie wasn't here right now, but the older man had never said anything about her not coming at all. 

"We had a long, mature discussion about it. We both agreed it best we live the lives that best suited us; from now on, she'll be staying a few towns away from wherever we are, and I'll be going to visit her every now and then."

"Oh," Dutch said, his mood also visibly dropped now. "I… hope things aren't tense between you two?"

"No, not at all," Hosea replied. "She understands who I am, and I understand who she is. We've both agreed we won't let that affect our relationship."

"Can I go and visit her with you?" Arthur asked, not particularly liking the idea of this set-up; it wasn't in his place to say, though. 

"Of course!" Hosea said. "She misses you a lot, she'd probably string me up if I didn't bring you with to visit!"

"Okay," Arthur said, feeling a little better at that. 

"Lighten up, will you two?" Hosea said with mirth in spite of the gloomy vibe in the room. "I'm back, and I ain't going nowhere."

"You're absolutely right!" Dutch said, resolving to leave behind the melancholy mood. "Hell, let's have a party!"


	13. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are different, and yet the same. 
> 
> [Hi, random Author's Note here. Sorry this chapter is so short and took so long, but I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> As of when this is being posted (6:30 AM EST, Thursday, February 27th, 2020), it is my birthday! I turn 20 today. Please leave me some birthday wishes, I crave validation of my existence.
> 
> With all that said, please enjoy this chapter.]

Upon Susan coming back from town, Hosea's return party began. 

The older outlaw told stories of where he and Bessie had been since they left the cabin near Redbank. Amusing little anecdotes that Arthur listened to like they were gospel. Having Hosea back was wonderful, even if he was still missing Bessie. Knowing she wasn't very far away, and that he'd still be able to see her sometime soon took the edge off of that a little. 

The four of them laughed as they sat in front of the fireplace, sharing stories. It was great, really. 

At some point or another, Dutch brought out the liquor, and Arthur was about three shots in, not drunk but definitely not entirely sober. The adults clearly weren't dry, neither, as they loudly sang a song about some feller called One-Eyed Riley. 

The party only died down shortly after Dutch had rushed outside to throw up, obviously having drunk too much. They all headed to bed, and Arthur fell asleep quite quickly, inexplicably happy and tip-toeing the line between buzzed and drunk. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things were different, and yet the same. 

Hosea and Dutch ran jobs. Susan scolded Arthur for not bathing, or slacking off, or whatever else she could think to yell at him for. He probably deserved it. 

Mostly, the thing that was different was Arthur himself. His voice was getting deeper, he was getting taller, his muscles were getting bigger. When he'd joined Hosea and Dutch, he was about a head shorter than them. Even Bessie had been a little taller than him, though, she was quite a tall lady. Now, though, he could see eye to eye with Dutch and Hosea, and he was a few inches taller than Bessie and Susan. 

"What a handsome young man you've become!" Bessie had happily exclaimed the last time he and Hosea had visited her, cupping his face in her hands as she looked him over. 

Another thing constantly in shift was the weather. Winter soon turned into spring, which Arthur was more than happy for. They moved near another town called Sinwood as soon as the weather had broken, and Arthur was glad to be back in the wild. Buildings had always made him feel trapped. 

Another thing to change brought up by Dutch. Arthur had stepped out of his tent one morning in late May and sat on a log in front of the fire, pulling his cup out of his satchel. As he poured himself some coffee, Dutch looked up from his newspaper and chuckled a little. 

"What?" Arthur asked, putting the percolator of coffee back where it belonged. "What's so funny?"

"You got a little somethin' right here." His mentor said, pointing to his upper lip. Confused, Arthur shrugged it off. 

But then Hosea and Susan brought it up, too, so as he went down to the creek to wash up, Arthur looked in the clear water at his reflection, finally understanding what they were pointing out. 

Facial hair. Very faint, but noticeable enough. 

Arthur didn't know how to feel about it, quite honestly. On the one hand, it was one of the many signs that told of him growing up, of turning the page to a new chapter in his life. On the other, it also meant he'd have to constantly get it trimmed, once it came in fuller, in order to avoid looking like some kind of mountain man. 

Spring changed into summer. It went from constantly raining, to rarely at all, from warm to sweltering hot. All the plants that had only been budding as of the beginning of spring were now full, and he took great care to sketch every new kind of flower or animal he came across. 

Another thing that changed was his age. As soon as summer rolled over, so did his birthday. Seventeen years old. He never thought he'd make it to fifteen, much less seventeen. 

Bessie had come to visit them for his birthday, and they had a big old party, against his wishes once again. Hosea gave him a new journal, as it seemed the one he was currently using always seemed to be filled up by the time his birthday came around again. Susan gave him some new boots, Bessie gave him a pair of socks she'd made herself, and Dutch gave him a new gun and holster, saying it would soon be time he learned to dual wield. 

Perhaps the best present, though, was everyone's presence. All five of them, drinking and horribly singing under a starry sky. Copper, no longer a pup, tried joining in with the festivities, howling loudly as they sang, drank, and laughed. 

By the time it was time for bed, Arthur was definitely drunk. Susan yelled at Dutch, and Bessie at Hosea for letting him drink so much. 

"Ah, calm down." Dutch slurred, clearly not sober either. "He's- he's a man now, he can drink as much as he wants! Ain't that right, Hosea?"

"Sure!" Hosea agreed quite easily, quite loudly, too. Come to think of it, all three of the men were soaked. "Gotta… let the boy make his own choices every now and then."

"Come on, dear, let me help you get to bed." Bessie offered to Arthur, who was giggling at nothing. She had a hard time getting Arthur to his feet, Arthur stumbling all over the place. With how soaked he was, he found it hilarious. 

"Night, Arthur! Happy birthday!" Dutch yelled as Bessie dragged the drunk teen into his tent. 

"You, too!" Arthur exclaimed back, laughing hysterically as he realized, "Wait, it ain't his birthday."

Needless to say, he woke up with a pretty bad hangover. So did Hosea and Dutch. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Come on, Arthur, you can do this!"

"My left hand weren't made to shoot, Dutch."

"Nonsense!" His mentor said, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Hey, don't you roll your eyes at me, son."

"I can't do it, Dutch," Arthur replied as he reloaded his guns. "Why do I have to shoot two guns at once, anyway? Ain't one enough?"

"No, it's not," Dutch said, crossing his arms. "And I know damn well you can do it, you just ain't tryin' hard enough."

"Take it easy on him, Dutch." Came Hosea's voice from where he was sat under the shade of a tree, observing. "It's a difficult skill to learn, much less master."

"We both  _ know _ he's capable, Hosea!"

"Capable don't mean he's gonna get it in the first few tries."

"He ain't even  _ trying _ ."

"Sure, he is."

Seeming a little frustrated, Dutch threw up his arms and said, "It's your turn to teach him, then. I'm headin' back to camp." And with that, Dutch mounted The Duke and was off. 

Hosea shook his head and tsked a little as they watched him ride away. "What's his issue?" Arthur mumbled. 

"He and Susan have been arguing," Hosea replied. "I'm surprised you didn't hear them, it's been going on for a few weeks now."

"Huh." Arthur hummed, trying to think back to Dutch and Miss Grimshaw's behavior towards each other the past few weeks. A little tense, maybe, but Arthur had written it off as Miss Grimshaw being her usual sour self. 

"Enough about them, let's keep trying to teach you to dual wield."

At the end of the day, he was lucky to hit a couple of the targets; most of them with his right hand, so maybe he still wasn't really good at dual-wielding. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Change was good, but it was also bad. 

Arthur liked a lot of the ways he'd been changing. Bigger, stronger, faster, smarter, a force to be reckoned with most of the time. When he got into brawls, he got away with only minor injuries. A bruise here, a scrape there, usually something he could fix himself. 

He was getting better at reading, writing, drawing, and shooting. Getting better at picking out which parts of Dutch and Hosea's stories were true, and what was bullcrap. Better at making split decisions. 

There were a lot of changes that scared him, though. Being let out more often than he'd used to, Arthur would sometimes run into a situation where he'd have to kill to save his own skin- be it man, or beast. Either way, he could pull the trigger without much thought. 

It terrified him. Couldn't even look at a picture of Lyle Morgan, or wear the hat the man had left behind without the feeling of turning into his father creeping up on him. The hat lay abandoned under his cot most days as of late, and Lyle's picture stayed tucked away, where he wouldn't have to see it. 

His moods were changing, too. More often than not, he felt down, even when he was happy, or just fine. His thoughts would spiral for hours, stealing any wink of sleep he might be lucky enough to catch. 

One of the nights in late July he'd let his thoughts get the better of him, Arthur stepped out of his tent into the muggy summer night air, finding where Dutch was standing watch at the edge of camp, and sitting next to him. 

"Your shift don't start for another two hours," Dutch said. 

"I know."

"Couldn't sleep again?"

"Mhm."

Setting the rifle down, Dutch reached into his satchel and pulled out a box of cigarettes, put one between his lips before turning the box to Arthur. With a shrug, the teen accepted the offering, plucking one from the pack. Dutch lit his own smoke, and Arthur followed suit, striking a match against his boot and bringing the flame to the cigarette between his lips. 

He felt a bit more relaxed as the smoke entered his lungs, held it there for a moment before breathing out. He watched the smoke cloud in front of him until it disappeared. 

"What are you plannin'?" Arthur asked his mentor. 

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"Sure, you do." The teen replied, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, let me come on a job."

That hadn't changed. Arthur had asked Dutch damn near a million times if he could come on a job yet, and the older outlaw would never give him a straight answer, always coming up with excuses as to why he couldn't.

"You still ain't ready yet." Was his answer this time, and Arthur huffed in annoyance. 

"What makes you say that?"

"It bein' the truth."

"You'll never know until ya let me try."

Dutch went silent at that, taking a drag from his cigarette. Arthur was about to give up, until he said, "I'll talk to Hosea about it."

Blinking as he tried to process if he'd actually heard that correctly, Arthur said, "Really?"

"Yes, really," Dutch replied. "Go get back to bed. You need rest for your guard duty shift."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Another thing that never changed was chores- Arthur was just fine with it being that way. 

Every morning, as soon as his shift for watching camp was over, he'd get another hour or two nap before being up for the day. He'd start off sitting by the fire, drinking coffee and talking to Hosea, who often was the only other person awake at that time. Then, he'd get water from whatever source they were camped near, haul the bucket back to camp to be used for various things, like washing dishes, filling their canteens and making coffee. 

After that, he'd chop firewood, enough to last them through the current day into the next. As soon as that was done, he'd brush down and feed the horses. 

Caring for the horses was Arthur's favorite chore, as it was the thing that felt least like a job. His favorite horse, was, of course, Charlie, and the American Paint favored him right back. He and Charlie were near inseparable by now, and Arthur had no idea what he was gonna do if he ever had to get another horse. 

Susan's horse named Lady was the worst of the bunch. She was temperamental, and even after all these months of Arthur being her primary caregiver, the mare still tried to bite at him. As long as he gave her a few sugar cubes and kept his distance, for the most part, she'd leave him alone. But she always caused a fuss whenever she could sense his nerves. 

He had some today, as out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dutch join Hosea by the fire. Dutch said he'd talk to Hosea about him being able to go on a job, and Arthur was nothing if not impatient. 

Naturally, Lady caused a ruckus when he pulled a sour face for too long at the thought of both of his father figures shooting down the opportunity of him getting involved in a job. She reared and nickered in displeasure, huffing hot breath basically into his face. "Calm down, Lady. Ain't nothin' so deep for you to be actin' like this."

Lady apparently disagreed, since she kicked up some more dust and huffed at him once more before finally stilling. 

"Whatever," Arthur told her in retaliation. 

From where he was standing, he couldn't hear what Hosea and Dutch were saying. From the look on their faces, Arthur reckoned they were talking about the possibility of him going on a job. 

Casually, Arthur ducked behind the nearest tree, slowly making his way along the brush and shadows to try and get closer to the campfire without his mentors noticing. He eventually made it to the tree closest to the campfire, and he hid behind it as he listened in. 

"I'm still not sure." Hosea had said, and that made Arthur's heart drop a little, that he came in at a time where things are not looking too good. "He hasn't been doing the best with his dual-wielding lessons, and… He's still a boy."

"I know, but much as I hate to admit it, there's gonna come a time when we can't tell him 'no' anymore. Teenagers don't listen to the word 'no'. It ain't in their vocabulary, 'til it's convenient for them." Dutch replied. That just made Arthur frown more. 

"I know, I know." Hosea agreed; wow, this wasn't getting any better. "We could… Start him off with something simple, something fool-proof."

"Well…" Dutch hesitated, and Arthur heard the tell-tale sign of Dutch taking his map out of his satchel. "I heard recently about this rich family in the area. Couple of ranchers. Apparently, they're real crooked but basically harmless."

"'Real crooked, but basically harmless' doesn't sound like a real thing," Hosea said, and Arthur could hear the nerves under the older man's tone. "If they really are crooked, shouldn't be nothin' that'd stop them from puttin' a bullet in the boy's brain."

Dutch sighed. "Well, he's a good shot with the one gun. And real quick with aiming, too."

"Hm." Hosea hummed. Then he sighed as well, a deep, contemplative sigh. "He could maybe… Cause a distraction while we go in and grab everything. 'S about time we started teaching him about spinnin' yarns, anyway." 

"And these fellers aren't likely to shoot at someone who doesn't look too shifty like we tend to."

"Are we really gonna do this?" Hosea asked carefully. 

"I think so," Dutch replied. "We'll think of it as, a trial run. See how he does, and decide from there whether or not we should start bringing him more often."

"Alright," Hosea said, still sounding a bit skeptical, but willing to play along at least. "Should we go today?" 

"Sure, there's plenty of time."

And with that, Arthur went to slink off back to the horses-

"Arthur, we know you're there."

And turned back to them because they probably knew he was there the whole time; he was stupid to think otherwise. Hosea put his hands on his hips while Dutch crossed his arms. Arthur stood there, looking back and forth at them, waiting. 

"You can only come with if you promise to do everything exactly as we tell you to." Dutch began. "And at the first sign of trouble, you're hoppin' on the nearest horse and getting the hell outta there."

"Okay," Arthur replied, hopeful and excited but reigning it in. 

"You're gonna be causing a distraction," Hosea said next. "I'm thinkin' the starving orphan angle."

"The what?"

"You know, just, act like a pathetic street kid," Hosea said. "Try to play at their sense of empathy."

"I tried doin' that when I  _ was _ a pathetic street kid, and it never worked." Arthur reminded him. "And I don't really look the part anymore."

"He's got a point," Dutch said. Hosea hummed in thought.

"He could pretend to be a ranch hand for hire." The older outlaw shrugged. "Ask for a few days' work in exchange for board and food, then drag the conversation out long enough for us to take everything."

"Now that is kind of genius," Dutch said as he eyed Arthur from head to toe. "Yeah, he definitely looks the type. Little young for it, maybe, but he could use that to his advantage."

"And he is a rather handsome young man." Miss Grimshaw interjected, having exited her and Dutch's tent for the day. She gave Arthur's cheek a pinch, and the teen cringed a bit, face scrunching up. "Could be a little heartbreaker, if he needed to be."

"Alright then," Hosea said, hands dropping to his sides. "Get ready then, son. You're going on your first robbery."

"Try to look like a wayward soul," Dutch added in as Arthur ran back to his tent to get ready. 

Not even ten minutes later, he was in a dirty set of clothes and had smeared patches of mud on his face to fill the role Dutch and Hosea needed. Miss Grimshaw threw a fit at how horrible it looked, but Hosea and Dutch said it was a nice touch. With all that done, he quickly cleaned and reloaded his gun before holstering it. Dutch and Hosea finished getting ready, and the trio set off towards the ranch. 

A couple things had changed in the past two years; some for the better, some for the worse. Arthur was definitely gonna consider this one of the better ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this is short and it took so long. Had some IRL bs going on that I had to take care of, and the situation didn't permit any time to write, then I spent a few days recouping.
> 
> Please leave a comment and a kudos if you haven't already! <3


	14. Arthur's First Robbery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests, this is Arthur's first robbery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy the chapter, even though it's short!

As the trio rode towards the ranch, Dutch and Hosea seemed to deem it necessary to re-tell Arthur over and over what he would be doing. 

"We're gonna get off our horses out of sight of the homestead. Arthur, you're gonna put your gun somewhere accessible, but outta sight, then walk up to 'em and start asking for work." Dutch instructed. 

Arthur asked, "What if they ask me why I need work?" 

"Tell 'em a lie," Hosea answered. "Spin a tale about a sick relative or something."

"And what do I do if they don't believe me?"

"Throw a tantrum," Dutch replied. "Give them a reason to believe you. Or at least distract them long enough for us to grab everything."

"Alright." Arthur easily agreed. 

"I think it goes without saying, you're not to expose the fact that you're armed unless they give you a reason to." Hosea then said, a careful tone to his voice. 

"Of course." Arthur said, and only just held back the urge to roll his eyes because Hosea often only repeated no-brainer stuff with the knowledge that Arthur was on the same page from the word 'go'. Most of the time, anyway. 

"And, again, preferably, you shouldn't have to kill anyone," Dutch added in, and Arthur  _ did _ roll his eyes this time, secure in the fact that Dutch was riding in front of him and couldn't see the gesture. Hosea, however, did see and gave him a slightly stern look. "Ideally, if the situation goes south, you should hop on the nearest horse and book it."

"I know."

"Any questions?" Hosea then asked. Arthur shook his head, confident that he knew all he'd need to. 

"Alright. Get your heads on straight, fellers." Dutch said, pushing The Duke to run a bit quicker. Onyx and Charlie followed suit as Hosea and Arthur spurred them faster. 

"Only so long as you'll keep your own cool." Hosea ribbed a smug smirk on his face. 

"Very funny, dear friend," Dutch said with a chuckle. 

Arthur spent the rest of the ride going through finer details in his head- a fake name and backstory in case these people wanted to know who he was, where he was from. Spent even more time trying to come up with some sob story that'd either work in his favor wonderfully or backfire horribly and have to be revised. 

Probably a lot of thinking he'd ended up doing for such a small job, but he had been prepared nonetheless. Or at least, tried to be. 

The three of them hopped off their horses on the denser edge of a clearing near the homestead, shadows from tree leaves above keeping the outlaws hidden from sight of their mark. "Alright, Arthur, hide your gun somewhere," Dutch ordered. 

Arthur did as he was told, hanging his gun holsters off of Charlie's saddle, packing away the extra gun, and shoving the other under the hem of his pants. He pulled his shirt out a bit to make it baggier so it could conceal the weapon easier, and when he looked ready to go, Hosea said, "Alright, you should be good. Go on, then."

Arthur nodded and started towards the homestead. "Be careful," Dutch added, and Arthur nodded, kept walking. 

The ranch looked an odd mix between decrepit and fancy, rotting wood and fresh paint clashing. The few buildings spread out across this plot of land looked old. Still, Arthur could tell this ranch was doing well just by the sheer size of it, and the number of animals he could see. Pigs, sheep, chickens, and cows went about their business in their respective areas, and Arthur's hand itched for his pencil to draw the gentle beasts. 

There was a lady with light blonde hair on the porch, crocheting something as he approached. He took his hat off and set it against his chest as he approached her. 

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

The lady looked up from what she'd been doing immediately, seemingly a little startled as she jumped a bit in her seat. "Oh… Hello." She greeted carefully. She gave him a small smile, and Arthur almost felt bad they were gonna rob these people. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I was wonderin' if you needed any hired help 'round here," Arthur replied. "Ya see… My momma, she's real sick, and if I can't afford medicine for her soon, I fear she'll pass."

There was pure, raw emotion in his voice as he told her that, if only for the fact that the loss of his mother still stung something awful. Arthur can still remember all the feelings of overwhelming anguish that had washed over him as a boy when his father told him that she'd gone to be with the angels. That they wouldn't have her anymore, she was gone. 

"Oh… You poor dear." The lady said. "I'm not sure what needs to be done around here, and whether or not we need help. My husband usually takes care of most things around here." She informed him. "Let me call him out."

Arthur nodded, and as the lady turned to call into the house for her husband, he saw Hosea and Dutch start sneaking towards the back of the homestead; no doubt that the pair were seizing the opportunity of a soon-to-be empty building. 

He directed his attention back to the lady as she stepped away from the door, and a burly man stepped out. Any remorse Arthur had for soon robbing those folk disappeared as soon as he laid eyes on that rancher. He smelled of whiskey and glared at Arthur as though the teen had personally wronged him. Which, he hadn't. Yet. 

"What's yer name, boy?" The man asked in a heavy southern drawl, not too different from Arthur's own. The man was overweight and looked mean enough to eat puppies for breakfast every morning. 

"Alan Marsh, sir," Arthur spoke up, giving them the same alias he'd given that bounty hunter so many months ago. 

"What you want?"

"Some work, mister," Arthur answered again. He made sure to seem as mild-mannered as possible, even though the thought of knocking this man's lights out became more and more tempting as they stood there. "I need money to buy medicine for my momma. She's real sick- doctors dunno what it is, quite."

"Hm." The man huffed. 

"I'm a real hard worker, mister." Arthur continued, not liking the way the man's sneer was growing and growing. Because, really, this didn't feel too different of a situation than when Arthur'd still been playing to the good graces of strangers on the street. Begging endlessly to no avail, because no one cared whether or not he had something to eat that night, or God forbid some warm clothes on his back. "I've got some experience workin' in a stable, I'm real good at manual labor. Anything you need doin', I could do it."

"Oh, yeah?" The man asked, sounding and looking disbelieving. "Look, I don't buy it, kid. Scram."

The man turned to walk back into the house. Arthur panicked, trying to think fast. 

"Mister, wait, please!" He exclaimed, and it stopped the man in his tracks. He turned back to Arthur, arms crossed against his chest as he gave the teen a 'spit it out and stop wasting my time' look. "Please, mister, I can't lose momma," Arthur said in an even more pathetic tone. "She's the only person I got left, now that papa died."

And he made sure to sound extra sad about that, much as it hurt to even pretend to be in mourning for Lyle Morgan. 

"What part o' scram don't you get, brat?" The man snarled in response. "I'm perfectly capable of running my ranch on my own."

"Please, mister!" Arthur begged again, dropping to his hands and knees and groveling like he didn't know how to do much else. "I can't find anywhere else within a close enough ridin' distance than here, and I  _ really need _ the work. I'll do anything, honest!"

"Come on, honey, just give the poor boy a job." The wife said, sidling next to the man. "Look at the state he's in. No mother would let her son get to look that dirty unless she weren't able to get outta bed."

The man growled in annoyance, a few grumbles of which were curses, before finally, he said, "Fine, I'll give you a job! If it'll get ya to leave me alone!"

Arthur made a show of scrambling to his feet, dusting himself off for as much good as it did with the already dirty garments he was wearing. "Oh, thank you, sir!" And Arthur grinned up at the man like a starving soul would to a stranger who'd dropped a few bits into his tin cup. 

Arthur put his hat back on his head as the man instructed him to follow him. He did, looking back once or twice to make sure the lady had no intention of setting foot in her home that was currently being robbed; thankfully, she seemed content to stay on the porch. 

The walk over to the stable was a bit long, and Arthur could feel the tense energy between him and the man ten-fold as they walked in silence. Finally, though, they reached the stable, walked in and the man handed Arthur a pitchfork. "Alright, boy. Clean up all the shit in here."

"Where do I put it?" Arthur asked, not very enthralled that the first thing he was being told to do was pick up shit, but not really caring because he had no intention of staying long enough to even start the task. 

"Wheelbarrow, right there." The man gestured to a wooden wheelbarrow in the middle of the room, old, dried horse crap still caked on its surface. "We'll talk about more work when you're done. I'm goin' to feed the chickens. Don't come outta here til you're done."

Arthur only nodded in reply, and the man left, off to go feed the chickens. Arthur had seen where the chicken coop was on his way over there; the man would remain oblivious to the pair of men robbing his house right now. 

Speaking of which, Arthur put the pitchfork down and checked his pocket watch. They'd started this excursion already about ten minutes ago. Surely, Hosea and Dutch would be done right about now. 

Arthur peaked out of the stable doors, and as he did, he saw Dutch and Hosea in the distance, sneaking out of the house and towards where they'd parked the horses. Right on schedule, although Arthur also remembered what Hosea had said just before they'd stopped riding. 

_ "We might get separated during this job. When you see us make our way out, get to your horse, and if you can't catch up, ride back to camp as quickly as you can." _

So, Arthur snuck out of the stable and started running towards his horse. When he was confident he was out of earshot of the rancher man, he whistled for Charlie. 

He was just about to get into the saddle when a bullet whizzed over his head. He turned to look behind him and saw the rancher man with a shotgun, coming straight for him, though the man's bulkiness slowed him down substantially. 

"Come back here, you brat! I knew you was trickin' me!" He yelled after Arthur, and Arthur snapped into action, pulling himself into the saddle and spurring Charlie into a gallop. "Come back here right now!" The man's angry cries drew further away, his shots got less accurate. 

He soon closed the gap and caught up with Dutch and Hosea. "Arthur, how wonderful of you to join us, son!" Dutch said above the sound of gunshots and horse hooves. The shots were fading into the distance as they rode as quickly as their horses would take them. 

"I think it's safe to say that feller won't like us very much." Arthur felt the need to say. 

"Ah, what's new?" Hosea said. "Great performance, by the way!"

"Oh, yes, we could hear you playin' that fool for a fiddle the entire time!" Dutch said. "Well done, son."

They slowed the horses down to a trot as they got further from the homestead, confident they weren't being chased. "How'd you fellers make out?" Arthur asked. 

"We did spectacularly," Dutch answered. "Found at least a couple hundred, and some valuables to boot."

"'Course, we didn't pick 'em clean, but it's probably best that way," Hosea added. 

"Of course." Dutch agreed. 

It didn't take long for them to get back to camp, and once the horses were hitched and unsaddled, Dutch put a hand on Arthur's shoulder as they walked into camp. 

"You did really well today, Arthur." His mentor said, no small amount of pride in his voice. 

"Oh yes." Hosea agreed. "I'll be honest, son, I didn't think you were ready, but after seeing what you pulled off today, I might just be inclined to change my mind."

"I have to agree." 

"So…" Arthur hesitated, "can I come on jobs more often, then?"

His mentors shared a look between the two of them for quite a long moment, before finally reaching a decision, wordlessly. 

"Ah, hell, I don't see why not!" Dutch said. 

That answer brought Arthur instantaneous joy; not only would he have more to do now, but they were both finally treating him like he was capable. "Really?" He asked, not much caring to mask his excitement when all he could feel  _ was _ excitement. 

"Really," Dutch confirmed. 

"C'mon, fellers, let's split up the take," Hosea said, and it dragged Arthur back to reality. 

"So how's this work?" Arthur asked after Hosea and Dutch dumped all the loot they'd gotten from the ranch on the table. 

"Half of the take is to split evenly amongst the three of us, the other half is to give away," Dutch explained. 

"Who're we donating the money to?"

"I've been askin' around, trying to figure out that very thing," Hosea replied. "Heard there was an orphanage in town, trying to get some new books for the children."

"Any other places we can donate to?" Dutch asked, and Hosea shook his head. 

"I don't think so. Sounds like a worthy enough cause to me, anyway."

"Of course." Dutch agreed. "Alright, half the take goes towards new books for the orphans of Sinwood."

All in all, they had done pretty well; about five hundred dollars in all. 

"They should get a lot more'an just books, with how well we did today." Dutch half-joked and Hosea agreed with a chuckle. 

Washing up and getting into clean clothes felt better with about eighty bucks sitting in his pocket, Arthur figured. 

It's not like he didn't have money up until that point, and it's not like he ever really cared, either. Hosea and Dutch would throw him a few bucks every now and then for his work around camp, to have something to spend in town, and that'd always been great, but none of what he did actually felt like  _ work _ . It still felt a bit like they were giving, and all he was doing was taking. 

Like Hosea and Dutch would probably be better off without him around. 

He'd been struggling with that notion for quite a while, even as he basked in the high of a successful heist. Arthur knew he slowed Dutch and Hosea down, that the two older outlaws probably could have made it through several more states in the time he'd been with them. 

To be able to go on jobs with them now meant that he could  _ actually _ work. Earn his keep, make it worth keeping him around. 

" _ I'm sure I speak for everyone here when I say that we'd rather throw ourselves off the highest mountain than leave you behind." _

_ _ Hosea had said that to him… A little over a year ago? It still bounced around in Arthur's skull, seeing as Hosea left shortly after that. 

It wasn't fair to get mad at him for that, and Arthur knew it. Even if he couldn't get mad at Hosea for it, it still made him upset in general. 

He heaved a sigh. There he'd gone, overthinking again. He'd been happy, and it didn't last very long. It never really seemed to, anymore. 

Even as he sat there that night around the fire, with money in his pocket, food in his stomach, and knowing Hosea had just gotten back from donating money to the orphanage, Arthur was still kind of miserable. 

But maybe that'd change at some point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for the length of this chapter, but there's still some stuff going on in my life, and it makes me not really want to write. 
> 
> I have an idea in mind for what I want the next chapter to be, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. So I'll ask y'all; do you think I should break the perspective from Arthur every now and then? I feel like the story would benefit from some different points of view every now and then, but I don't know. Please lemme know what you think in the comments.


	15. (Don't) Run, Before It's Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While camping with Arthur, Hosea reflects on how he feels about the teen's growing competency, amongst a few other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a longer chapter than normal for these trying times
> 
> This chapter is from Hosea's perspective, because I'm not tryna pull a Steven Universe and only stick with one character's view (no shade towards SU I love it)

Hosea couldn't quite pin down what was going on with Arthur. 

All things considered, the teen should be happy. He'd talked about nothing more than being able to go on a job with them for quite some time now.

"Whataya mean, I still ain't ready?" The teen had asked just a week or so ago, and Dutch had sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose as he replied. 

"I mean, you're not ready. Why is that such a hard thing for you to understand?"

"I can pull my weight!" Arthur insisted. "You just gotta give me a chance to show you."

"And one day, we will. But today isn't that day."

Arthur hadn't dropped it. Hadn't before or since then, really. It's been the only thing he'd really asked for since at least Hosea's return back in December. 

So why was Arthur sitting so far away from the party, looking all sad? 

To his credit, Dutch was actually the one who noticed it first. The younger man nudged him and pointed as subtly as he could to where the boy sat on a rock at the other end of camp, glum-like. 

_ He likes talking to you more _ , his partner in crime said without words. Hosea nodded and stood, making his way over to Arthur. 

The sun was well on its way to setting, just barely peeking above the mountain top in the distance. It seemed Arthur was drawing the view, his journal spread across his lap as Copper slept on his feet. 

"Arthur."

The boy looked back at him immediately like a startled deer, closing his journal quickly. "Hosea."

"Mind if I join you, son?"

"No, go 'head." Was Arthur's reply, and Hosea sat on a nearby tree stump. "'S a really nice view we got up here." The teen said conversationally, eyes trained on the mountains that scraped the pinkish-orange sky and the sprawling valleys below painted gold with the last of day's light. 

"It is." Hosea had to agree. 

"Being outside is a whole lot better than being trapped in a building, anyway."

Hosea showed his agreement there with a short chuckle. He was the same way; went absolutely nuts if he was cooped up for too long. He needed fresh air, sunshine, and above all else, the freedom to go wherever his or Onyx's feet took him. 

He'd seen Arthur fidget the last two winters, going absolutely loony with cabin fever. It was quite clear to Hosea the boy was never gonna grow out of it, that Arthur was always going to feel more at home in the wilderness. 

"You okay over here, son?" The older man finally asked, done beating around the bush, as it were. Arthur clearly tensed, tried to cover it up, but it was too late because Hosea always saw everything. Arthur knew as much, he was sure. 

"I'm fine." The teen answered simply. "Just, got a lot on my mind."

"Like?"

The teen looked at him with a partially sour look on his face, but it seemed to fade as he answered, "I dunno, just… Those people we robbed today."

"Yeah?"

"That man really didn't wanna give me a job." Arthur continued. "Reminded me a bit of when I was beggin' in the street, and no one would help."

Arthur's head dipped after he admitted that, as though he expected admonishment. Hosea, of course, wasn't about to do that. 

"I can't imagine how difficult that was for you, son." And he really can't. Hosea's father had been absent for the most part, but his mother had always done an alright job of raising him. And even once he'd left the nest to start his own life, he'd at least had the advantage of being an adult and having plenty of know-how to survive. 

Arthur had practically been tossed out into the world, and he would have been chewed up and spat out like so many others before him if they hadn't found him.

"They treated me like I was shit on their boots, Hosea," Arthur replied. The teen apparently gathered some courage, because even with his eyes glassing over, he still looked up, and Hosea had never seen him look so miserable. "I know, it's kinda stupid to get upset over it more'n two years after the fact, but-"

"You have every right to be upset about the way those people treated you." Hosea interrupted him, only feeling a little bad for doing so. "Too often, people don't do the right thing because it inconveniences, or otherwise doesn't affect them."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't get it. Buncha supposedly 'good' people wouldn't give a damn about me, but a pair of wanted men saved me."

"Strange world we live in," Hosea said in way of agreeing. 

"Hm." Arthur hummed, then he sighed. "I'm sorry for dumpin' this all on you, Hosea."

"I came over here specifically because I  _ wanted _ to talk to you, stop thinking you're a burden." Hosea replied a little too sternly, backpedaling a bit as he added, "We care about you, no conditions, no catch. You're not in the way, you're not a waste, and you did wonderfully today." Put a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye as he said, "I'm extremely proud of you, Arthur."

Arthur sat up a little as a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It soon slipped away, however. 

"I'm guessing that's not the only thing that's wrong." The older man said experimentally. Arthur nodded. "What else?"

"I've just been feelin' really…" The teen paused, and Hosea could nearly hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to think of the right way to word it. "I dunno. Not bad? But not good, neither."

Hosea nodded in reply. He could still remember going through the same thing when he was on the cusp of manhood himself, mood swinging wildly all day every day, nothing he could do about it. "I understand."

Copper had woken from his slumber and set his head in Arthur's lap for pets, which the teen was more than happy to supply the dog with. "I don't know when it started. While ago, I guess. Can't really talk to Dutch about it."

"You can always talk to me." Hosea reminded him, and Arthur nodded a little. 

"I know."

Hosea gave the boy a pat on the back, before standing and motioning to where Dutch and Susan sat by the campfire. "Come on back to the party, son. You deserve it."

"Alright." Arthur agreed. He stood, putting his pencil and journal in his satchel. The three of them walked back to the party, where Hosea and Dutch toasted Arthur's brilliant work for the rest of the night. 

~~~~~~~~~

The arguing between Dutch and Susan had only gotten worse. The two fought like it was the end of the world and they might not ever get the chance to yell their grievances at each other again. 

Which is why Hosea wasn't surprised at all when they broke their relationship off. It was a long time coming, really. 

Despite their differences, Susan said she'd like to stick around, pending she was welcome to, if only because the three men would wallow in their own filth without a lady around to keep things running. Dutch didn't seem to have any objections to the idea, and Hosea found he didn't, either. 

Arthur wasn't phased by the shift in dynamic whatsoever, because whether Miss Grimshaw was with Dutch or not didn't change the fact that Susan would gripe at him near all day long. She'd yell at him to wash up, get on his chores if he'd been slacking; or, failing that, to eat something, because the boy pecked at his food like a bird recently. Arthur would comply with her demands, likely sick of all the chastising. 

"Fine, Jesus!" Arthur would yell, going about doing whatever it was Susan yelled at him to do with a few mumbled curses. Amongst the swears was almost always a muttered, "Bessie wouldn't yell at me for this stuff."

It was clear Arthur was feeling a bit pent up, just staying in camp. Hosea and Dutch had pulled a few more jobs since Arthur's first, and they hadn't brought him with again yet.  _ "Thought you said you'd bring me more often." _ The teen had complained yesterday when they got back from pulling a scam, pockets lined with riches. 

Watching him kick rocks on his way to chop firewood, it was clear he was bored out of his mind, being stuck here. 

Hosea had an idea to put him in a better mood. He waited until the boy brought the ax down on the last piece of wood before walking over. "Arthur."

The teen looked back at him as he put the ax down. "Hosea." He greeted simply.

"You wanna go camping?"

Arthur raised a brow. "Ain't we already camping?"

"Well, yes," Hosea replied. "You look a little restless, though. And anyway, it's been a while since you and me did something together."

"I could do with getting away from here," Arthur said. "Alright, yeah. Let's go camping."

"Get packed, I'll let Dutch and Susan know," Hosea instructed him. Arthur nodded, before going to his tent. Hosea, meanwhile, joined Dutch and Susan by the campfire. He sat down as he said, "Arthur and I are going camping."

"Ain't we already camping?" Dutch parroted what the teen had just asked him not even two minutes ago. 

"The boy doesn't like staying in one place for too long," Hosea told him, as though it weren't obvious. "He's feeling cooped up. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling cooped up, too. We've been in this spot since the beginning of spring."

"I'm assuming you're not just gonna go frolicking in the woods, right?" Dutch asked. 

"' Course not," Hosea replied. "I plan on teaching him about plants, maybe work on his fishing skills some more."

"Keep trying to work on his dual-wielding," Dutch suggested. 

"Sure." Hosea agreed. 

"How long'll you two be gone?" Susan asked, looking up from the shirt she was mending. 

Hosea shrugged. "Couple of days, maybe just overnight. I don't know yet."

"Alright." She replied. "Well, you boys have fun."

"We'll try." And it was then that Arthur came over. "You ready, son?"

"Mhm." Arthur hummed in reply.

"Alright, mount up," Hosea instructed, and the teen listened, starting towards his horse. Hosea stood to his feet. "Well, off we go, I guess." 

"Be safe," Dutch said. Hosea nodded, then turned on his heel and went to his own steed. Arthur was already on Charlie, looking anxious to leave. 

Hosea mounted up, giving a click and a kick to Onyx's sides. Onyx began trotting off, and Arthur and Charlie soon followed suit. 

~~~~~~~~~

They found a spot to set camp a little after noon, the sun high in the sky. It was August, so Arthur had done nothing but complain about the heat since they began this little trip. 

"Why can't the weather just be comfortable all the time?" The teen griped as he set up his tent. "Like, obviously it still has to rain every now 'nd then because of… Crops and stuff, but why can't it always be warm, 'stead of cold or hot as hell?"

"I wouldn't know, son, I'm not a meteorologist."

"A meteor-what?"

"Meteorologist," Hosea repeated patiently. "Someone who studies and predicts the weather."

"Well, why the hell're they called meteor-ologists?" Arthur then asked. "Why not weather-ologists?"

"I don't have an answer for that, either, I'm afraid." Then he looked at Arthur and said, "You probably wouldn't be so overheated if you weren't wearing that dark of a shirt."

Arthur looked down at said attire and gave Hosea a puzzled look. "What's wrong with dark colors?"

"They absorb heat," Hosea answered. 

"Why?"

"Something to do with how light works, I can't quite remember."

"Huh." The teen muttered. He looked through his saddlebags, before asking, "Should I wear this blue shirt I brought with, then?"

"That should work, yeah."

With a shrug, Arthur put the light blue shirt down and began removing the dark green one he'd been wearing. Hosea caught sight of the scars on Arthur's upper arm left by the coyote that'd attacked him the night they found him, along with the burn marks from where Arthur had cauterized the wounds. The scars were mostly faded by now, as were the burns, but they still stood to remind Hosea that Arthur had gotten damn lucky. 

He didn't let his gaze on those marks linger too long, as he didn't want to upset Arthur, but their existence stayed at the back of the older man's head nonetheless. 

Arthur seemed satisfied once he was in the lighter shirt, a small smile on his face that said, 'hey, he was right'. Which, of course, he was. Hosea knew what he was talking about most of the time, and was pretty confident in that fact.

"So what're we gonna do?" Arthur asked. 

"Well, Dutch suggested we should work on your dual-wielding." And the teen groaned in frustration at that. "It  _ is _ an important skill, Arthur."

"Why?"

"Well, for starters, two weapons is always better than one." Hosea began. "There's also the possibility of something happening to your dominant hand, and if that were the case, you'd need to learn to shoot with your left, anyway."

Arthur sighed in defeat. "Fine, we'll work on that, I guess."

"I was also thinking it'd be about time I taught you about different plants."

"Plants?"

"Well, sure. You can use plants for a whole lot of things."

"You can?"

"Of course," Hosea said. "So, what do you wanna do first?"

With an annoyed look, Arthur shrugged. "I guess dual-wielding. Might as well get it over with."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're getting a lot better."

"Not really." Arthur deflected, an ironic statement, as it was followed by him hitting his mark with the gun in his left hand. "My aim is still a bit off."

Hosea looked at the empty beehive they'd been using as a target. "Well, a person's body is a lot wider of an area than a beehive, son."

Arthur sighed, shot another bullet (and it hit), then replied, "Still, ain't as good as you and Dutch."

"Dutch and I've been doing this stuff a lot longer than you."  _ Been killing folks a lot longer _ , went without saying. "You only picked a gun up for the first time a little over two years ago, don't be so hard on yourself."

"I bet Bessie would learn this a lot quicker than me," Arthur said, seemingly ignoring what Hosea said and not cutting himself any slack. The older man rolled his eyes, unseen by Arthur who still had his attention on the beehive. "We been handling guns 'bout the same amount of time."

"Bessie is a wonderful shot, but that doesn't discredit your own skill."

"Can we go see her on our way back?" Arthur asked, letting his arm drop to his side as he looked at Hosea. "I… Kinda miss her."

"Of course, I miss her too," Hosea replied. He didn't miss the way Arthur's face fell a little at that answer. "You already knew that, though, didn't you?" Arthur nodded. "Ain't much that gets past you, huh?" The older man asked. Arthur shrugged his shoulders. 

"You been real busy with Dutch lately, ain't had the time to go see her. It's been, what, a month?"

"Little over that." And Hosea missed Bessie fiercely. He'd known it'd be best for them to live their own separate lives, and this arrangement had even strengthened their relationship a little; absence made the heart grow fonder, and whatnot. They had been apart before when Bessie would spend a few weeks in the nearby town's hotel. But not waking up next to her more often than not made him a bit depressed. Lonely. 

Dutch, Susan, and Arthur were lovely company. Dutch was like a brother to him, Susan was a wonderful lady, and Arthur was great, but none of them was his wife. She couldn't live the way he wanted to for long, nor he the other way around, but Hosea still loved her just as much as he did the day he married her (if not more), and he knew the same was true for her with him. 

"I'll probably stay with her for a week or two when we get there." Hosea mused his next thought aloud. 

"I wish it were possible to be in more'n one place at a time." Arthur sighed. "That way, none of us would ever have to miss each other."

"That makes both of us." Hosea agreed. "Anyway, keep trying. You're doing well."

Arthur nodded and obeyed, going back to target practice. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the boy's doubts in himself, which seemed to be as never-ending as the blue sky above them, he was getting a lot better at fishing, too. He always seemed to catch tiddlers, but Hosea reckoned that was from bad luck rather than lack of skill. 

It was around five in the afternoon when they'd stopped target practice and began fishing for their supper. They didn't have a lot of supplies on them as far as rations went, but Hosea had done that on purpose. Living off the land was a lot more satisfying than eating out of a can. Not to mention, an important thing for Arthur to learn.

Which, he was pretty convinced at this point that Arthur probably could survive on his own. He knew how to shoot, how to hunt, hold his own in a fight, fish, and start a fire. He was strong, smarter than he let on, and a lot braver than most boys his age. 

And Hosea had no idea how to feel about that. He was certainly glad, because (god forbid) if anything were to happen to him, Susan, Dutch and Bessie, the only person Arthur would have to take care of him is himself. However, his newfound competency also meant the teen could run off on them whenever he wanted. 

Which, of course, he was allowed to do, they couldn't force him to stay, and Hosea wouldn't ever even try. Arthur was his own person with the freedom to do as he pleased. And Hosea didn't think Arthur  _ would _ run off on them, not without reason, anyway. But he  _ could _ . And the thought didn't sit with him very well. 

As much as that thought plagued him, he couldn't deny Arthur the skills he needed to survive. It wouldn't be right. And another skill the boy needed to learn was how to start a fire from scratch. 

"But you already taught me how to make a fire."

"Not with a flint and steel, I didn't."

"I got matches."

"You may not always have matches."

Arthur frowned at that. "So I'll just carry extras on me."

"And what do you do if those matches get wet?" Hosea asked. Arthur blinked a few times as he processed the inquiry. 

"I guess you're right." The boy conceded. 

"Of course I am," Hosea replied, and didn't even fault the boy for rolling his eyes a little; mostly, because he noticed the small smile growing on Arthur's lips as he did so, and getting Arthur to smile these days was an ordeal. 

The older outlaw picked up a dark gray rock with a wax-appearing texture, Arthur watched from across the unlit firepit. "This is flint." He told Arthur, passing the flint to him. Arthur turned it over in his hand a few times. "Take your knife out, and strike the stone against it at an angle, towards the firepit."

Arthur nodded as he pulled his hunting knife from its sheath on his hip. He lined the flint and the blade up before bringing the flint down against the knife hard, sending sparks that made Arthur jump. When it wasn't enough to start a fire, he repeated the process, sparks spitting towards the tinder and kindling. "This is tricky."

"It takes longer, but you'll get it," Hosea assured him. Almost on cue, the older man noticed the sparks start to make light smoke billow from the kindling. "When you get it started like that, you have to feed the fire with oxygen."

"Ain't there already oxygen?"

"Yes, but look." And Hosea leaned closer to the pit as he cupped his hands around his mouth and began blowing into the firepit, the kindling catching a bit more. Arthur picked it up quickly, copying Hosea, and soon the smoke grew with the flames, and there was a fire. "Good job, son."

Arthur beamed a little, and it warmed the older man faster than the small inferno before them. "Thanks."

Hosea reached over and mussed up the teen's hair, much to Arthur's dismay. But the boy had not been wearing his hat as of late, so really it was his fault for leaving himself open like that. "C'mon, let's start up on dinner."

On a large flat rock that they first cleaned down with water, the pair began working on gutting and descaling the fish they had caught earlier that afternoon. Always a shoddily done job, if only because a hunting knife wasn't the correct tool to do this, but it worked nonetheless, and they soon had their fish free of scales and guts. They shoved the morsels of fish meat onto the blade of their knives and held it in front of the small flames roaring in front of them. Watched the fish meat turn from light pink to a golden brown, chatting amongst themselves as the grease fat crackled and popped. 

They ate until they were full, and just after they finished, Arthur laid down in the grass and stared into the sky. Hosea stayed leaned against a rock, using the light of the fire to read a book, only half invested in it, should the boy speak up. 

"Wish we coulda brought Copper with." Arthur's voice was quiet, like he was far away, and looking over at him, the teen looked like he probably felt as distant as the stars he was staring at. Hosea found himself gazing up at the sky, too, and always loved how small and insignificant it made everything around him seem. 

"Why didn't you?"

"He don't fit in the saddlebags anymore," Arthur replied. The teen sighed, sat up and ran a hand through his hair as he scooted closer to the campfire. "It's nice to be in a different spot for the night."

"It is." Hosea agreed simply. 

"I wonder what Dutch and Miss Grimshaw are up to."

"Hm." Truth be told, Hosea hadn't thought much about either of them since he and Arthur set out that morning. "We should probably hit the sack."

"It's still early," Arthur said. 

"I know, but I'm thinking tomorrow night, we should camp somewhere closer to where Bessie's staying. We have to make a lot of ground."

"Fair, I guess," Arthur replied. The boy took his journal out of his satchel and began sketching, and Hosea knew by now that Arthur almost always pulled his journal out before he went to bed. 

Hosea listened to the sound of pencil on paper mix with the crackling of their fire in front of him as he kept reading his book. When he heard Arthur closing his journal, the older man followed suit, noting the page he was on before closing his book. "Goodnight, Arthur."

"Night, Hosea," Arthur replied as he went into his tent. Hosea put his book away and went into his own tent, lying down on his bedroll where he fell asleep within moments. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

A new campsite for a new day, about a two hour's ride from the cabin Bessie was staying in. 

Hosea and Arthur were nearby their campsite, and Hosea was teaching the teen about plants. 

Hosea explained in great lengths what each plant could be used for. Arthur listened attentively, and Hosea was just getting done explaining the many uses for yarrow when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. 

"Arthur, look." He said in a hushed tone, pointing. Arthur's head whipped around as he searched the wooded hills Hosea was pointing to, and when he finally found it, his hand went to his gun. "No need for that."

"It's a goddamn wolf!" Arthur exclaimed quietly. 

"It's a timber wolf," Hosea replied. "They'll usually leave people alone."

Hearing that, Arthur didn't draw his gun, but he did keep his hand on it. A few more wolves made themselves known from the brush, and the beasts were looking straight at them, clearly not interested in bothering them. 

"They see us, right?" Arthur asked. 

"Yeah, they see us, alright," Hosea answered. 

"They're… Kinda neat looking." 

Arthur looked mesmerized by the wolves, now that he knew the likelihood of them attacking the pair was pretty low. Hosea noticed how critically Arthur was studying the beasts, and there was no doubt in his mind they'd be the subject matter of Arthur's scrawlings later that night. Hosea and Arthur stayed there and watched the wolves for quite some time until they seemed to get bored of the two, disappearing back into the forest. 

"Well,  _ that _ was somethin'." The teen said at a normal volume. 

"Sure was."

Arthur didn't shut up about the wolves for the rest of the day. Hosea found he wasn't bothered by it. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur knocked on the cabin door while Hosea stood beside him on the small porch. A few beats passed, and the door swung open, Hosea's lips curling into a smile at the sight of his wife after so many weeks. 

"Hosea, Arthur!" Bessie greeted them enthusiastically. She stepped in Hosea's direction and the older man closed the gap. They both wrapped their arms around one another and pulled away for a kiss. Then, once again for Bessie to give Arthur a hug. 

"Hello, dear." Hosea greeted. 

"Hi, Bessie." Arthur chimed, wearing a smile of his own.

"Come on in," Bessie said, and the three of them walked into the cabin. "It's nice to see you two."

"It's nice to see you, too," Hosea replied earnestly. He sat next to her on the couch, while Arthur made himself comfortable in a chair across from them. "Arthur was feeling a bit cooped up, so we went camping."

"Did you have fun camping, Arthur?" Bessie asked. The boy nodded. 

"We saw wolves yesterday." He said, pulling his journal out and flipping to the drawing he did of them. He passed the journal to Bessie. "Hosea said they were timber wolves."

"You've captured them quite nicely." Bessie complimented, careful not to run her fingers over the graphite as she looked at the beautiful sketch Arthur had done. "You're getting better at drawing, honey."

"Aww, not really," Arthur replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"But you are!" Bessie insisted, and Hosea loved the passionate look in her eyes. She'd always loved art. She passed Arthur his journal back, and the teen closed it up, putting it back in his satchel. "I always adore your drawings."

"Thank you," Arthur replied, and Hosea didn't miss the flush on his cheeks. 

"You're gonna make the poor boy die from all these compliments, darling, he has no idea how to take them." Hosea joked. Bessie laughed a little, and Arthur turned a little redder. 

"How long will you two be visiting for?"

"I'm gonna be staying for a week or two, Arthur should get back to Dutch and Susan." 

"Can't I stay, too?" Arthur asked. "Miss Grimshaw and Dutch are…"

"Insufferable?" Hosea supplied. Arthur nodded. "Well… You should at least go and let them know we're staying."

"Okay." Arthur complied, practically scrambling to his feet. 

"Be back before sunset, please," Hosea instructed. Arthur nodded, then practically flew out the door, and the couple heard horse hooves a few moments later, fading into the distance. Hosea shook his head fondly. "He's a piece of work."

"Oh, you love him, really." Bessie chastised lightly. 

"Yeah," Hosea admitted. 

Loving Arthur is exactly why he invited the boy along when he and Bessie left. Hosea himself was in far too deep into this outlaw thing, had done too many bad things, killed too many folks to deserve any kind of redemption. Arthur, on the other hand, was mostly innocent, had never killed in cold blood or for gain. 

None of that particularly mattered right now, though, sitting next to Bessie, who threaded her hand through his and gave him the sweetest smile, like he'd personally hung the stars in the sky. "I've missed you, Bessie, darling." Hosea said honestly, drawing her closer. 

"I've missed you, too, dear." Bessie replied back, and she laid her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her snugly, and the couple stayed like that for a while. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur had insisted the three of them camp in the backyard. Given how far from anywhere else this cabin was, the 'backyard' was nothing but sprawling fields. 

And so they camped in the backyard, all three of them. Arthur had shown Bessie that Hosea taught him a different way to make fire- apparently the teen had kept the piece of flint Hosea had handed him two days ago. 

"Figured I might as well carry it around. You can dry off a rock, not quite so much matches."

So obviously, Hosea had gotten through to him eventually. 

They ate dinner in the cabin, in Bessie's small kitchen, then went back outside as they sat around the fire and talked. 

Bessie planned on joining them all once winter came around again. Hosea couldn't help but warm inside at the thought of that, spending a few months with her after so many mostly apart. 

Arthur was quiet, but he was content. He joined in every now and then, but mostly he was just drawing in his journal. 

It wasn't so much that this softer side of the boy was rare, rather than that Hosea knew it  _ would be _ at some point. The way Arthur was going was the same exact path Hosea himself had stumbled down, and the older man already knew whatever lay in store for his future wasn't going to be very nice. 

There wasn't any point in trying to deny who he was. He was a conman, had always been and always would be. 

But you don't just wake up one day and become an outlaw, that way of life gets drilled into you. It's a slow trickle into your brain that says, 'this is the only way you'll ever be able to live', and Hosea could see the beginnings of that in Arthur, and it scared him. 

How would the world treat this young man? Will his smile fade as time goes on? Will he lose his spark? Will he lose his humanity or his soul? 

Or would he just get chewed up and spat back out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stick with me for this end note here, it's tangenty but hey, none of us are going anywhere very fast (or should be, anyway).
> 
> So firstly, I wanted to say thanks for over a thousand hits! <3 I noticed forever ago, and kept trying to remember to thank you all, but it kept slipping my mind bUT NO MORE. Again, thank you so much. 
> 
> Secondly, thank you also for all the nice comments I've gotten since starting to write this. Please leave me more, I live for y'all's feedback. 
> 
> Thirdly, this story still isn't anywhere even close to finished. It's still only 1880, leaving about 19 years between now and the beginning of the canon RDRII storyline. So please, sMASH that subscribe button so you can be emailed when this story gets an update, if you haven't already. 
> 
> A lot of research went into this chapter. Like I forgot what people who study the weather were called (meteorologists, I say, to remind myself so I won't forget again) and I looked up flint, whether timber wolves were indigenous to near where Hosea and Arthur were, whether they knew about light colors and dark colors and how light works and all that jazz. I also ended up looking up a bunch of stuff about dual wielding weapons that I never even involved, because mostof what I learned consists of, 'dual wielding doesn't work in real life the way it does in fiction' so I said, 'screw it, doesn't matter, my story is fiction'. 
> 
> Side note, I hope you're all safely indoors and that none of you or your loved ones have the deadly icky that's going around EVERYWHERE right now. 
> 
> With all that said, I hope you peeps enjoyed the chapter.


	16. Were There Crossroads Where You Been?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur struggles further with his morality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please enjoy the chapter, I worked extra hard on it for y'all after all the encouragement I got earlier. <3

Arthur moved slowly through the brush, bow ready. When he was closer to his target, an unsuspecting rabbit, he pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, drew the bow, and let it fly. 

The rabbit was hit, and made a few pained squeals, flailing a couple times before finally perishing. Arthur walked over to its body, picking the rabbit up by the hind legs and carrying it over to where he'd left Charlie. He tied it to the American Paint's saddle, then mounted up and started his ride back to camp. 

Arthur had been the first to wake on this day, the twenty-second of June, 1881. His eighteenth birthday. Upon noticing no one else up for the day, Arthur went hunting for that night's dinner, knowing once he got back he'd be flocked with attention. 

They had traveled from Maryland to West Virginia and were now somewhere in the heart of Kentucky. Supposedly, from Kentucky, they'd make their way through Indiana, and then Illinois. If everything went according to plan. 

No one was awake just yet when Arthur got back to their somewhat new campsite, and so he brewed some coffee, sitting by the fire as he pulled his journal out. 

Just like the previous three birthdays, there were only a few pages left unmarked by graphite. Arthur quickly sought to fill them, drawing a rabbit like the ones he'd killed that morning.

It was then that he heard a snapping twig, his head turning toward the noise by instinct; his heart rate falling back to normal upon finding the source for the sound. Hosea was stepping out of his tent for the day, stretching as he walked toward the campfire. "Mornin', Hosea."

"Good morning, Arthur." Hosea greeted back happily. He sat across from Arthur at the fire. "Happy birthday, son."

Arthur rolled his eyes a little, though his smile betrayed any annoyance he may have hoped to convey. "Thanks."

"How long have you been awake?" The older man asked through a yawn. 

"Couple hours," Arthur replied. "Got my chores done, got us some dinner." He gestured to where his untacked saddle lay on the hitching post with the rabbits still hanging off the saddlebags. Then, he picked up the percolator of coffee. "You want some?"

"Yes, please," Hosea replied. He picked his cup up from where he always left it by the fire and Arthur poured him some coffee. "Thank you, son." 

"You're welcome," Arthur said and went about pouring himself a cup. He would still make a face at the bitter taste but had grown accustomed to it in the past couple years, anyway. 

It was then that Dutch emerged from his tent, hair mussed from slumber so that the dark curls stuck out all over the place. Hosea snickered a bit at him. "Your hair really doesn't like you in the morning, friend."

"No, it does not, and I've given up trying to reason with it," Dutch replied with at least a small amount of amusement, and Arthur found himself giggling at the sight of his slightly older mentor. "What're you laughin' at, boy?" He asked with a smile. 

"Ah, ah, not boy- man." Hosea reminded him. 

"They grow up so quickly," Dutch said, Arthur rolling his eyes once more and Hosea laughing in consensus. 

"That, they do. Maybe we should have another?"

"Let's have a girl this time, I didn't appreciate dealing with such an unruly boy."

The pair of them chuckled together. "You two are somethin' else," Arthur remarked. Of course, he said that all whilst he thought to himself, that he wished he had a friend like Hosea and Dutch had each other. 

"It's hard to believe we picked you up three years ago." Dutch's voice brought Arthur back to the present. "Feels like just yesterday, I was teachin' you to spell your own name."

"Now, he knows the whole alphabet, and a good deal of the English language."

"Gee, thanks," Arthur replied with a frown. His mentors laughed at his expense. 

"Oh, lighten up, son, we're just yanking your leg."

"Yeah, sure."

"Would you two heathens leave the poor boy alone?" Came Bessie's voice, and Arthur had only just noticed her up and about, having been critically studying his rabbit sketch while his surrogate fathers had been 'yanking his leg'. 

"Man." Dutch corrected her, and Hosea gave Dutch a light slap to his arm, which the latter pretended hurt him with a soft, 'ow'. 

"Mind yourself." The older man warned him lightly. 

Bessie walked over to Arthur, leaned down and cupped his face in her hand before tilting his head up and planting a kiss on his forehead. "Happy birthday, honey." She said sweetly, and Arthur smiled up at her. 

"Thank you." He replied, and she let go of him, walking over to the log Hosea was sat on and sitting next to him. The older man pulled her closer, and they shared a good morning kiss. Hosea was always so much happier when Bessie came to stay with them for a little, and the good mood was contagious. 

Miss Grimshaw then joined them. She also wished Arthur a happy birthday, and he thanked her as well; then Dutch seemed to remember he hadn't yet, and Arthur rolled his eyes for the third time that morning before thanking him also. 

Just like the three prior years, they doted on him all day long. Arthur found that as more time passed, he became more and more comfortable with it. He still didn't think his birthday should be made such a big deal of, but this year was a little different. You only turn eighteen once, after all, and Arthur found himself excited at the prospect of being an adult. Also at the idea of being treated with a little more respect, a little more dignity. 

Moreover, he wasn't so much comfortable with the attention he got as he was with the people he got it from. He adored Dutch, Hosea, Susan and Bessie fiercely, would gladly kill for them, and likely would end up dying for them, at some point. Sure, the outlaw life was tough, but Arthur couldn't imagine leaving the group after all they'd done for him. All they'd taught him, all that they'd forfeited for him, and provided him. 

Just like the previous years, when night came they sat around the fire, singing, drinking, and enjoying the rabbits Arthur had killed earlier that day. Unlike the previous years, Arthur got entirely way too drunk, even more so than last year, and once again it was Bessie who helped him to his tent and cot. 

He'd enjoyed his birthday, but more than that, he enjoyed the people he spent it with. 

~~~~~~~

Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch were walking through the nearby town by the name of Ironlanding. Ironlanding was a relatively bigger town than the ones they usually worked. The trio had been walking down the main street, having hitched their mounts at the beginning of town, when Hosea stopped in his tracks. Curious, Dutch and Arthur took pause as well. "Somethin' wrong, pal?" Dutch inquired. Hosea shook his head. 

"No, not at all," Hosea answered. "I was just thinkin', we should get our picture taken."

They had stopped outside a photographer's studio. Dutch appeared to mull the idea over for a few moments before he said, "Hell, I don't see why not."

"What do you think, Arthur?" Hosea asked, and Arthur thought it over for a few moments as well. 

"Sure." The youngest man said with a shrug. "Could be fun."

The three of them stepped in, and Hosea talked to the photographer, then the three of them were advised to pose for the camera. Hosea and Arthur sat in the two available seats while Dutch remained stood up, his hands on the other mens' shoulders. 

The flash that went off as their picture was taken blinded the trio for a minute, and then they sat around for a while waiting for the picture to develop. When it eventually did, the photographer gave them each a copy of it and Hosea paid for them, then they left. 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hosea, Arthur!"

Arthur and Hosea were sitting by the fire when Dutch came strolling into camp. "Yeah, Dutch?" Hosea asked. 

"I got a tip-off at the saloon in town," Dutch replied with a pleased smile. "You fellers up for a job?"

"Of course," Arthur said. Dutch sat across from them at the fire. 

"Apparently, there's some really rich family nearby- didn't get the details on what they do, but they usually all leave their home unattended for the day, save for the eldest daughter."

"What's the plan?" Hosea asked. 

"I was thinking Arthur could distract the daughter while you and I slip in, take what we want."

"Aw, c'mon, I'm always runnin' distractions," Arthur complained. "Why don't you distract her?"

"Because she's only nineteen, that makes her closer to your age," Dutch explained. "I'm not asking you to do something unachievable, son, just flirt with the young lady and keep her attention off of us."

"Flirt with her?" Arthur echoed back. "Dutch, I don't have the first idea how to flirt."

"Just, treat her like Hosea treats his wife." 

"But, she ain't my wife."

Dutch threw his arms up in the air with a frustrated groan, saying, "You're so difficult sometimes, I swear."

"Well, Dutch, I'm presuming Arthur doesn't exceptionally like the notion of toying with a young lady's heart so we can rob her family blind." Hosea chimed in. Arthur nodded in agreement. 

"That don't seem right," Arthur admitted. 

"It's the simplest way to pull this off," Dutch replied matter-of-factly. "There's a lot of suffering in the town of Ironlanding. The money we get from this job could end some of that."

Arthur was still unsure, and Hosea seemed to follow him in that uncertainty if the pulled expression he wore had anything to say about his opinion of the matter. "How much suffering?" 

"A lot," Dutch replied grimly. "First day I was down there, I saw a feller, covered in filth and bruises, beggin' every last soul who passed him by for somewhere to stay, or a meal. Found a small campsite just outside of town, and there weren't much. Could tell whoever was livin' there was just barely scraping by."

"Oh," Arthur mumbled. 

More than anything, Arthur hated the sight of suffering innocents. Walking past strangers he could tell were doing horribly, not being able to do much about it. Feeling helpless, knowing how that felt, being able to relate, and still not having the ability to change it. Some people were born into a life of luxury, while others were shoved to the dirt, neglected and treated illy. 

He'd been there before, just a little over three years ago, starving, and freezing, and  _ suffering _ . And though it weren't for very long, Arthur could still recall the anguish as though he was still there in his tiny camp, nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a dilapidated, run-down tent, and a dull, rusting hunting knife. No way of knowing where his next meal came from, how he was going to defend himself, how he could even try to survive all on his own, and it was an act of extreme kindness from the most unlikely source that dragged him out of that darkness. 

In the end, if a few were to get hurt to save a lot, it was a job well done, right? A good deal of the money they got away with was always set to the side for the local ne'er-do-wells. For those society kicked to the ground and ignored the desperate pleas for help from. Arthur thought often of all the people they'd helped at the expense of a few, how when Hosea or Dutch would go to the nearest orphanage or charity to drop off a donation that there were poor souls who hadn't had a scrap of anything in so long getting to live as though they were destitute kings and queens, if only for a little while. 

And so, a little begrudgingly, Arthur agreed to run distraction again. To trick some poor young lady into thinking he was interested in her, just to shatter her heart when she came home to fewer riches than when she left. 

_ To help someone less fortunate than her _ , he tried to fool himself, but it didn't work. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The plan was simple; Hosea called it a 'long con'. 

Every day, for a week or so, Arthur would show up to the grand manor just outside of town, proclaiming to the rich daughter that he'd 'seen her around', and wanted to talk to her. He'd warm her up, then convince her to leave somewhere with him, while Hosea and Dutch went in to grab everything they could. 

And then the job would be over, and Arthur could forget he ever agreed to something like this in the first place. They'd donate a whole lot of their score to some foundation that would, in turn, use the wealth to end some of the misery in Ironlanding. Knowing there were some going to sleep that night with a full stomach when they usually went without would make up for however horribly he'd feel about himself after all this. 

He hoped so, anyway. 

On the first day of their long con, Dutch stressed the significance of appearance. More importantly, concealing who you really are; becoming a wolf wearing sheep's clothing. "You show up lookin' the way you usually do, the jig's gonna be up before we get the chance to rob 'em."

And so, his slightly older mentor taught him how to shave, due to Arthur's uneven scruff that was really beginning to become noticeable, and Dutch picked out an outfit for him that he said would make Arthur look more like an average Joe, rather than some rough-and-tumble cowboy. 

"There ya go!" Dutch had happily exclaimed with a proud grin as soon as Arthur stepped out of his tent, feeling as though he were wearing somebody else's skin. "Now you look like you belong in the gilded cage."

"The gilded cage…?" Arthur reiterated, not knowing what Dutch meant. 

"The gilded cage of society, son," Dutch explained, like that really answered anything. "Think about it. All those fools out there, taking jobs in the government, conforming to the rules. What do you think separates them from us?"

"Money?" Arthur asked. 

"Freedom," Dutch answered. "We're out here, doing our own thing, while they all go through the monotony and the constrictions of free will that structured civilization imposes upon them."

"Huh," Arthur muttered, still a bit puzzled. Though, he liked the concept of being free. He'd spent so much of life til that point feeling like a prisoner, but as soon as Dutch had said that, it occurred to him that was no longer the case. 

Being free, what a lovely idea. 

Dutch went on to protest further about civilization, and some of its many defects. "Society and their 'structure' are wrong. Corrupt. Their rules, their law, is why people like us have to exist; we help those who get ignored, just because they weren't born with a silver spoon in their mouths." 

"You've always had such a way with words," Hosea interjected from where he sat looking at a map. 

Thankfully, Dutch stopped his rant there, but it definitely gave Arthur a lot to think about. 

There was still that question swirling at the front of his head, continuously unanswered. Was it okay to sacrifice a few, to lie, to manipulate, to swindle, to deceive, if it were for the greater good of someone who couldn't help themselves, and wasn't being offered relief from anyone else, either? If there were such a thing as God, would he or she be assessing Arthur by his intentions, rather than his actions? He wanted to help people. He wanted to stand apart from the others like Dutch so constantly said they could. Going around, stealing, when necessary, killing, to feed not their own greed or desire of worldly goods, but to give the bare essentials to those who didn't have the chance or capacity to seize it for themselves… It was good, right? 

He tried to think about all the folks they could help with the money from this con as he rode to the gorgeous manor just outside of Ironlanding. 

The place looked well cared for. Fresh paint on everything, very little dirt or grime, no rotting wood, large windows and a nice little porch out front with an awning. There were rose bushes, lilacs and daffodils painted across the property in nice little rows, in front of the house, down the main walkway. Flawlessly trimmed hedges, not a stray rock in sight. The manor looked to be two stories tall, and there was a little gazebo just past it. 

He could make out a figure in the gazebo, so that's where he went. His feet took him towards the person sitting there, features coming into view as he neared. 

As he reached the gazebo, he paused and took his hat off his head, resting it against his chest. "Excuse me, miss?"

She startled a little, her attention having been on a book in her hands. "Oh! Hello!" She laughed awkwardly. "Can I help you, sir?"

Arthur wrung his hat in his hands, his brain turning to mush. She was a really pretty girl, with full cheeks, big brown eyes and hair the color of rich coffee. "Uh, I-" he strumbled a little over his own tongue, "I've seen you around, and I've wanted to talk to you for a while now. Only just built up the courage." He chuckled awkwardly as well, out of shame. There was this gut instinct he had then, that this job would not be worth any kind of sacrifice that might have to come from it. He didn't listen to it.  _ Too deep in now _ , he thought.  _ Might as well go through with it. _

"You've seen me around?" She asked, looking perplexed. "You must have me confused with someone else, mister…?"

"Arthur." He replied, and then cursed himself in his head- Hosea said to never use your real name in a con. "Arthur… Callahan."

"I don't leave this property very often, Mr. Callahan." She said. 

"I live nearby." Arthur kind of lied. Their camp was close, sure, but they definitely weren't close enough to these folks to be neighbors. "I pass here sometimes on my way to town, and I've seen you sitting out here a few times. You looked real lonely, so…"

She closed her book slowly and put it on the little coffee table in front of her. "Well, that's awfully kind of you." She said. "It does get awfully lonely around here."

"May I join you, then?" Arthur asked, and she nodded enthusiastically. 

"Yes, please do." She said, patting the spot on the bench next to her. 

"What's your name?" Arthur asked as he sat next to her. She turned in her spot to face him better. 

"Ruth." She replied. "Ruth Baker."

"Pleasure to meet you, Ruth." 

She smiled at him, hands folding in her lap as she seemed to study him for a moment. "So, how close-by do you live, Arthur?"

"Up the road a ways." He replied vaguely, but she didn't seem to suspect a thing; completely unaware, the way it should be. 

"What do you do?"

"I'm a ranch hand." 

"I bet that's arduous work, huh?" She asked. He nodded in reply. 

"What, um, do you do?"

"Oh, not much of anything," Ruth replied honestly enough. "I mostly just sit around and read. My daddy says neither me or mama should because ladies aren't meant to, but I like reading."

"What're you readin'?"

Ruth picked the book up and handed it to him, and he looked at the cover while she answered, "Little Women, by Loise May Alcott."

"'S it good?" He asked. She nodded as he gave her the book back. 

"I think so, yes."

Ruth was easy to get along with, very open. At one point, he even showed his drawings to her, which, it was becoming a rare occurrence for him to even let everyone back home at camp look. They talked for hours about so many things; favorite colors, and foods, personal experiences, books they'd read, places they'd been, things they'd seen or heard or been through. 

Through all of it, Arthur tried his damndest to keep the ruse up. To pretend like he had any intention of sticking around. Pulling the wool over her eyes, and helping to take from her and her family with only the smallest amount of regret. 

He damn near burned his father's hat when he got back to camp that night. He didn't let on to Dutch, Susan or Hosea about what he was feeling, or thinking. 

That question kept rattling around in his skull, in a million various ways. Was he doing the right thing? Could he be doing something differently? Was there some way around this issue where no one would be hurt? He was so furious with himself, knowing if he couldn't find a solution, he'd end up mindlessly heeding Dutch's wishes, toying with Ruth as though she were just an obstacle. In the way. Something to be dealt with- nonviolently, of course, but still hurtfully. How would she feel at the end of the week, realizing Arthur had only bothered with her so he could help her family get looted? 

He wasn't doing this for sport, and yet, he kept thinking one other thing; I'm  _ just as bad as him. Just like Pa.  _

_ No _ , a more logical part of him revolted,  _ I'm not _ . Lyle Morgan had only ever left devastation in his path. He didn't care about the needy, the less fortunate, the down-and-outs. As far as he'd ever been concerned, it was him against the rest of the world. 

Arthur had only pulled a few jobs in the past year, but some of them had been really good scores. Which meant really nice donations to those who needed it more. Believing himself as horrible as his father felt improper because that would make Hosea and Dutch worse by extension, and they'd clearly proven to be better than Arthur's father had ever been. 

So, he didn't burn the hat, but it went right back under his cot where he could ignore it.

~~~~~~~~

Hosea had once told Arthur that if the young man had a gut instinct, he should follow it; it'd probably be right. 

He ignored that advice, had ignored the terrible feeling he got upon meeting Ruth and hadn't found a solution to the issue, continuing to pretend to court her, or at least have the tiniest amount of interest in her. All whilst reporting back to Hosea and Dutch every night about whatever knowledge he'd gathered. 

He should have listened to his instincts. 

On the sixth day of the con, Arthur had notified Hosea and Dutch he was going to attempt to pull Ruth away from home so there could be unguarded treasures o' plenty for the taking. His mentors followed him to the manor, staying far enough away to be out of sight, but still see Arthur and Ruth depart. 

And they did take off, Ruth had suggested they go to the library when Arthur brought up going somewhere together. They hopped on Charlie's back with her arms around his waist, and they rode into Ironlanding. Arthur helped her down from Charlie, and they went into the library.

They were only there for a few minutes before gunshots rang out in the distance. Arthur didn't even listen to her cried out, "wait, where are you going?!" As he immediately rushed out the door and saddled up. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ , he told himself, knowing immediately what he'd overlooked to ask her; when her folks usually got home. They must have walked in to find Hosea and Dutch scouring through their shit like raccoons through garbage. 

More than that, though, he felt awful for leaving Ruth behind as he did, but there weren't any way around that, truly. He was pushing Charlie extra hard, trying to get there in time to help Hosea and Dutch, should they need it. 

The guns were still going off a couple minutes later when he got there. It seemed Hosea and Dutch were pinned behind a few trees, drastically outgunned by no doubt angry Bakers. 

Arthur drew his revolver and ran across the lawn being used as a battlefield, finding cover behind some sorta weird statue. "Arthur!" Hosea yelled over the gunfire. "What are you doing here, son?!"

"You were supposed to be runnin' a distraction!" Dutch chastised him. 

"Heard the gunfire, came to help!" Arthur explained, peeking out from cover as he heard a break between shots to fire a few of his own. One of them hit a feller in the throat, and he died crumbling to the ground, blood gushing down his front. 

It still took a while to take them all down, but soon there were no more angry men with guns left, and the trio could breathe a little easier. "We gotta get goin', all that is gonna draw law," Dutch said. 

"I'm astounded they ain't here already," Hosea said. 

It was then that a wagon came pulling into the property at a quick pace, and from the back of the wagon Ruth hopped off, the driver left, and she saw the carnage around them.

The young lady gasped and backed up as the sight of all those dead bodies lying around registered for her. Then she gaped at Arthur and the expression on her face… 

Hurt, anger, resentment and then grief all in one instant. She ran over to one of the corpses and dropped to her knees, sobbing her eyes out. 

"We gotta get out of here!" Dutch reminded them again. The trio instantly whistled for their steeds, not wishing to be around when the law showed up. As they mounted up, Ruth gave Arthur one last, long, pained and angry glance, before returning to her mourning as the three thieves rode off. 


	17. A Failed Man Is The Most Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur can't catch a break.

Ever since watching Ruth crumple to the ground to grieve for the family members they'd killed during that slightly botched robbery last week, Arthur couldn't do much of anything. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't write or draw. 

Miss Grimshaw had been the one to take the donation into town, and when she got back, they all packed up and left their camp, traveling west. Couldn't very well stay there, after all the drama they'd caused at the Bakers'. By the next evening, they were set up near a new town by the name of Thornvale.

Thornvale was relatively small. It didn't look like there was much for them, but Dutch said they should stick around to pick some pockets, gather themselves, make a more formative plan. 

Which reminded Arthur he had no idea how to pick a pocket. 

Upon bringing this issue up to Hosea, the older man frowned a bit. "Well, see, it's not really something I can very well show you how to do. It's about sleight of hand. Being subtle, as to not attract suspicion."

"But how the hell do you rob someone  _ that _ up close and personal?" Arthur asked a little frustratedly because if it wasn't something he could be taught, how was he supposed to know if he was any good at it? 

"It usually comes to you better with some practice." Hosea shrugged. 

"Practicing could get me hung." The younger man mused realistically. 

"Just about anything we do can get us hung." Hosea reminded grimly. 

The older outlaw had been sulking since they left Ironlanding. They were now more than a two day's ride from where Bessie was staying this time around, and they'd left so quickly that they hadn't been able to mail her a letter telling her where they were. Hosea had, of course, gotten on that as soon as they settled into this new campsite, but it would take days, maybe even a week or more before they got any kind of response back. And they hadn't seen Bessie since she left them the day after Arthur's birthday, already damn near a month ago. 

Things were always so much better with her around; Hosea was so much better when she was there. Clearer, happier, sharper. Whenever he went so long without her, Arthur could notice the difference as soon as it started to rear its head. He was just never the same without her there, and more than anything, Arthur wished they could be together more often, whether that entailed Bessie coming back, or Hosea leaving them again. 

But the reason Hosea came back in the first place is because he missed Arthur and Dutch. Clearly, Dutch didn't want to give up the life, and Arthur… 

Well. 

His feelings on that subject matter were confusing at best, frustrating at worst. 

Arthur hadn't set out for this way of life the same way Hosea, Dutch or his father had; he'd kinda… Been dragged into it? But not really because he'd gone along with joining in on his mentors' crimes with no qualms, willing to do anything if it meant having stable relationships with people he trusted, and a home to come back to every night; even if said home were nothing more than canvas over his head and a cot that was beginning to get a bit too small for him. 

He had made his choices. He was the one to beg Hosea and Dutch for a chance to prove himself useful, he was the one who stayed with them this long, he was the one stopping himself from getting out of it. Arthur very well could have packed his bags and left the day he turned eighteen- Hell, could've left before that, even. Could have left with Hosea and Bessie them two years ago, and maybe then Hosea wouldn't have felt as compelled to have to come back. Maybe, if Arthur had been there, they both would have been content to leave Dutch to his own devices. 

Because Arthur was starting to question if this outlaw thing was really worth it. If they should be stealing money to help people, instead of just raising the money themselves in a more honest, less lethal way. One part of him said it was the only way, that things hadn't changed and the universe wasn't gonna give him a chance to be good, especially after all he'd already done, just like it didn't give him a chance three years ago when he'd been thrown out into the world. 

And then there was all of what Dutch had said to him, just before they started that massacre of a con that ran them out of Ironlanding. Arthur couldn't find any fault of what his slightly older mentor told him. He agreed entirely. Society sucked, the law sucked, the rich sucked, and the illusion of choice that civilization and law brought with it, sucked. Out here, they were free to do as they pleased. 

But  _ was it worth it _ ?

Arthur still couldn't tell. Generally, he went about life with the knowledge that he didn't know shit about shit. The only things he really did know were guns and horses. Trying to figure out morality, or existential purpose would always prove futile because smarter men than he had been asking the same types of questions for thousands of years now. Their thirst, and his, for the answer, would remain parched. 

Anyway, Arthur decided to get off that trainwreck of a thought before it blew up on him. Saying a quick bye to Hosea, Arthur mounted up and headed towards town. 

~~~~~~~~~

On the way into Thornvale, a wooden sign with chipping paint greeted him, along with the bustle of people going about their lives. 

_ "There ya go! Now ya look like you belong in the gilded cage." _

_ "The gilded cage…?" _

_ "The gilded cage of society, son. Think about it. All those fools out there, taking jobs in the government, conforming to the rules. What do you think separates us from them?" _

_ "Money?" _

_ "Freedom." _

Looking around at all the people, Arthur knew exactly what almost all of them would do. They'd do their jobs, get paid, go home, and do it all over again tomorrow. The same thing, day in and out, for years on end, with rules, restrictions, regulations, and law getting in the way of anyone enjoying anything about life. 

It was sad. Arthur almost pitied them. Until he remembered that these were the same type of people who ignored him when he was down and out, then he felt nothing but (admittedly) misplaced resentment. 

After putting his weapons away, he got a meal and a bath at the saloon, washing a week or so's grime off of himself. Arthur felt a little better as he pulled on some clean clothes, and as he walked back out he was debating whether he should practice pick-pocketing. That's when he heard a woman scream from the alleyway. The streets were mostly empty, and it looked like none of the people who were out and about had any intention of helping, so Arthur sprung into action, running towards the alley as fast as his feet would take him. 

He turned the corner and there, on the ground, lay a woman, being pinned down by one man as another rifled through her purse. "Hey!" Arthur yelled to get their attention. The crooks immediately snapped their heads toward him, drawing their guns. Arthur reached for his own-

And realized he'd left them in Charlie's saddlebag. 

_ Shit.  _

The man holding the poor lady down with all of his weight let her go and she backed up, scooting herself along the ground until her back hit the dead-end wall of the alley. The crook who was looking through her purse tossed it to the side, and the pair of them started towards Arthur, who stood there frozen. "Well, well, well, whatta we got here?" The bigger man asked. "Some brat tryin' to play hero?"

"I ain't a brat," Arthur growled in retaliation. Even now that he was an adult, he was mistaken for a child all the time, and it pissed him off something fierce. Even more so than it did when he  _ was _ still a kid. "Leave the poor lady alone, and there won't be no trouble."

He didn't even have his knife (not that it'd do him much good, with the other men outnumbering him and having the sense to be packing heat), what had he been  _ thinking _ ? That he was gonna scare them off? Like he was intimidating in any way? 

They laughed at him, and Arthur scowled so hard he was sure his face would split. "You and what army?" The smaller feller, the one who'd been going through the lady's purse asked. 

"Me 'nd this army," Arthur answered, raising his fists. The fellers laughed at him some more, and before Arthur could get in another snide reply, the bigger feller was tackling him to the ground. 

Arthur kicked and struggled under the weight of the man, throwing blind punches that didn't connect with flesh, kicking wildly at the air, until the man pinned him down, Arthur's arms and chest trapped under the weight of him.  _ Can't breathe _ . The woman was screaming again, begging over and over for someone to come to her and Arthur's aide, but her wails went unanswered. 

"Get offa me, you bastard!" Arthur all but spat at the man on top of him as he wriggled and writhed, trying to break free to no avail. The man was built like a shit brick house. Big, broad shoulders, arms so muscled that the man's wrists had to be thicker than Arthur's biceps. 

"Fiesty little feller, ain't ya?" The smaller man asked; though, at second glance, he seemed to be bigger than Arthur, as well.  _ Goddamn it. _ "Whattaya think we should do, partner?" He asked the bigger feller, and Arthur could see the man's expression twist into a devious smile. 

"Let's take 'im back to camp, we'll let Freeman decide what should happen to him."

The other man turned giddy at that, and Arthur could feel his breathing get quicker, difficult as it was with the ox-like man on top of him. "Freeman is a vicious bastard!" He exclaimed happily. 

_ How the Hell is everyone just lettin' this happen in broad daylight?! Where's the goddamn law when you need them? _

He kept struggling, heart and mind racing as the smaller man bound Arthur's ankles together with rope. "Stop!" He yelled, trying to sound threatening, but only sounding pathetic and panicked.

The big man drew his gun again, bashed Arthur in the skull with the butte of it, and Arthur saw stars. "Shut up, ya little shit." He growled as Arthur dazed. 

Arthur still tried to fight. He wriggled, and pulled, and kicked until his lungs were burning from exertion and the still heavy pressure from the man on top of him. They pulled him up to his feet and grabbed his wrists before he could even react, twisting his arms almost painfully behind his back which he protested with a whine he didn't want to make, didn't wanna give them the  _ satisfaction _ of. They tied his wrists together, too, and then the ox-like man threw Arthur over his shoulder as though he were light as a sack of chicken feed. 

His captors whistled for their horses and he was thrown unceremoniously on the back of the bigger man's horse's rump with an 'oof'. "Hosea, Dutch!" Arthur called out desperately, despite knowing they were back at camp, much too far away to hear him. "Susan!" Her, too. 

He didn't even get to call out for help again before they were taking off at breakneck speed, no sign of anyone chasing after them. No sign of rescue for Arthur. 

He spent the entire bumpy ride worried he was gonna fall off the man's horse and get trampled by the other feller's steed, that when they got there this Freeman they was talking about was gonna kill him, that Hosea, Dutch, Grimshaw, Bessie, Copper, and Charlie would never even see him again. That he'd never see  _ them _ again, either. His hat fell off at one point, abandoned as they kept sprinting towards somewhere, and he was miserable, to say the least. 

_ I'm going to die. _

When they finally stopped, the horses panting from being overworked, Arthur was once again thrown over the shit brick house feller's shoulder. "Put me down, you son of a bi-!"

Arthur got what he wanted, though in a different way than he meant. What did he really expect? That they'd just let him go? The feller all but threw Arthur to the ground and the impact made him groan in pain, his skin stinging. He rolled, curled up, until he was on his back, staring up at some really mean looking bastards. 

_ Hosea, Dutch, Bessie, Susan, please- _

He didn't get to finish his thought before an even bigger man with a cigar between his teeth stepped on his chest hard, leaving Arthur crying out. "The fuck is this thing?" He asked his friends, as though Arthur was something he'd never seen before instead of a human being. 

"Some little shit, let one of our marks get away." His second captor replied. "Was too bad, too. That lady looked like the best this shit-hole podunk town has to offer. Didn't even get to snatch her purse, cuz this dumb bastard decided to play hero."

"We figured Freeman should make him pay for it." The feller he'd  _ thought _ was big before the one stepping on him had come around said. 

"Christopher Freeman." The third man said, sounding like he was talking about some old famous gunslinger, with the amount of respect in his voice. "He's a mean son of a bitch. Would probably kill his momma to save his own hide!" They all laughed. Arthur kept listening for gunfire, horse hooves, voices, anything that would tell him that  _ someone _ had seen the dust the men had kicked up as they captured him and that he'd be saved. 

He did hear the galloping of a steed then, off in the near distance, though the lack of angry yells, gunshots, and how well this location was hidden told him it probably weren't someone friendly.

Surely enough, the rider and steed were headed this way, stopping at the entrance of the camp, much larger than any camp they ever had. There looked to be at least five or six bastards living here, and Arthur had a feeling they was all nasty. The rider pulled himself down from his horse and walked over. 

Arthur had never seen a man larger, he was sure. The newcomer was half the size of a goddamn boulder and looked like he probably weighed as much, too. He had a sadistic smile as he approached, and Arthur was certain the man looked a lot uglier than he could see from that angle. "Well, what have you boys brought in?" He asked his other friends. 

"A new punching bag." His second captor replied joyfully. "Since the other one died, ya know."

Hearing that made Arthur's blood freeze instantly.  _ I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die,  _

His breathing came in stuttery and panicked. He tried to break free of the rope, but all that did was make it dig into his wrists and ankles. 

Arthur was so ready to get barraged by fists and feet, so ready to get beaten to a bloody pulp, but the blows never came. Instead, the newcomer, presumably Freeman, yanked Arthur up to his feet by his hair. Arthur let out a pathetic yelp. "Let's starve 'im first, it'll make it even more entertaining."

"Wonderful idea, boss." Arthur's smaller captor said. He was basically dragged by his hair over to a tree, which they tied him to, adding even more rope for Arthur to just about cut his skin on as he struggled.

"You bastards'll be dead as soon as my family finds me!" Arthur yelled at them, writhing and struggling, face pinching at the pain of taut rope rubbing against tender flesh. 

"Your family?" Freeman scoffed and chuckled. Arthur scowled up at him as though his stare could set the man ablaze. It didn't, unfortunately. "Your family ain't never gonna find you here, boy. And if they do, I'm sure my men can handle 'em."

"Look around you, boy." One of the other men said. "We're in the middle of the woods. How's your family gonna know to look for ya in the woods?"

His words washed over Arthur, and he sank in on himself, slumping where he'd sat on the ground against the tree. The man was right. As far as Dutch and Hosea knew, Arthur went into town. They ain't gonna have no idea what happened to him. 

Maybe they wouldn't even bother to look for him. He'd told them both a few times how horrible he felt for betraying Ruth the way he did. Maybe they'd just assume he'd packed his bags and left with no intention of coming back. He was a man now, supposedly able to take care of himself. 

A darker part of him, a part of him Arthur tried his damndest to ignore, said,  _ maybe they don't even care if you come back. You just slow them down. Can't even pick a pocket, you dumb fool.  _

Seeming to have sensed that they'd thoroughly smothered his spirits, at least for the time being, his four captors grinned viciously. One of them held a rifle in his hands and he walked over, slamming the butte of the gun into Arthur's head hard. 

The world went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It'd been about a full day since Arthur was captured. 

First of all, he was thirsty as Hell. The inside of his mouth is dry and his throat was scratchy. His captors have made sure to drink plenty of water right in front of him, pleased smiles on their faces as they pull their canteens away from their lips. "Aaahhh, that hit the spot." They'd say mockingly. "You want some? Too bad!"

He was hungry, too, and they'd made sure to mock him for that as well, even going far enough as to place a plate right in front of him, his arms bound uselessly behind him. "Go ahead, boy, supper's served!" They howled with laughter. Arthur just stared up at them all with a scowl, expression hidden in the darkness. One of the men had a dog, a reminder that Copper was home at camp right now, probably wondering where he was. The dog ate the food they 'gave' to Arthur, stealing every morsel Arthur could get his hands on- if he could get his hands on goddamn anything right now. 

He couldn't tell if it was blood or sweat dripping down his wrists. He'd been pulling and struggling against the rope for what felt like forever now, but it wouldn't budge. His wrists were mighty sore. 

He'd barely been able to sleep. It's not cold, per-se, but it's definitely a far cry from what it'd be like if he were home in his cot under his blankets. The bark of the tree is rough against his back. There were too many noises, snapping twigs and unfamiliar animal calls that set all his basic instincts into overdrive. It was always like that at home, too, but he felt secure there. He was cramped from having been forced to sit in that position for the past twenty-some-odd hours. 

_ Hosea, Dutch, where are you? _

Another practically restless night passed. 

Thankfully, he'd finally been given some water, though not a whole lot, and even less food- only the shit that his captors didn't wanna eat themselves. Literally, the bare minimum to keep him from starving to death so they could torture him with things far more painful. Two long-been stale crackers, and of all things, a spoon's worth of assorted salted offal. Arthur didn't believe in God, but he prayed to never see assorted salted offal again in his life. However long that may be. 

The men left the camp for a few hours, and when they came back, they were raging. Something about nothing to steal around here, Arthur hadn't exactly been listening, too scared shitless. He knew first-hand what most unsuccessful thieves do; they take their aggressions and shortcomings out on the easiest target. Arthur may as well be a sheep in a den of wolves. 

He guessed correctly. His captors came storming over, and though he was thankful for the rope leaving his wrists and ankles as they cut him free, he wasn't thankful for what he knew would happen next. 

He wasn't even given a chance to run. He was yanked up by his hair again and then thrown back into the dirt. Arthur was gonna try to get back up and make a run for it when a sudden, hard kick was delivered to his side. He wailed out, clutching his ribs.

Freeman picked Arthur up by his hair  _ yet again _ and Arthur yelped. With his free hand, the criminal took the lit cigar from between his teeth and pressed the burning cherry to one of Arthur's already torn-up wrists. Arthur tried to pull away, screaming as the leader kept the embers there for a few seconds, smelling burning flesh before he was thrown back to the ground whimpering. He tried to get up but couldn't, too weak from malnutrition, dehydration, and muscle apathy from sitting for two days straight against his will.

_ Please, where are you? _

He looked up at the leader who was smoking his cigar again with a pleased expression. He leaned down to blow the smoke in his face, making Arthur's eyes burn like his skin had, before he said, "Go on, get 'im." 

His men didn't hesitate. Arthur was kicked, punched, cut just deep enough to bleed but not bleed out. He was pinned to the dirt and assaulted by fists, yanked up by his hair and then tossed back to the ground. They twisted his arms so far out of their sockets that they nearly broke, choked him til he was on the verge of passing out, only giving him enough time to regain his breath before they shoved his head in the horses' water trough, just about drowning him. 

All the while, Arthur was helpless to do anything, too weak, too hurt, too small to save himself. He called for help the whole time, but no one came, his desperate pleas growing weaker and quieter the longer they beat him. When the men finished their fun, they didn't even tie him up again, confident he wouldn't be able to move. He was inclined to agree. They just shoved him into the tree and Arthur collapsed with a few last whines, not even bothering to try and pick himself up out of the dirt. 

_ I'm going to die _ , he thought again, hearing laughter as darkness took over.


	18. Good Deeds Don't Go Unpunished

Arthur had up and disappeared, it seemed. 

They should have noticed sooner that he was gone for far too long. The subject only came up the next afternoon. "Where do you think Arthur got off to?" Dutch had asked, checking his pocket watch with a frown. "It ain't like him to be gone for this long."

"He was headed into town, I think," Hosea answered, which really didn't do them any favors. Arthur hated being near or in towns, even a small one like Thornvale. Only ever went when he had to, always got out as quickly as he could. He should be back by now. He was always back by now. 

Foolishly, they didn't go looking for him, until one day turned into two. Hosea, Susan, and Dutch were pacing around the camp, Copper was laying outside of Arthur's tent with one of his shirts tucked up under him, looking rather depressed. He never liked it when Arthur was gone for real long. 

They were about to go out on a search for Arthur when they heard hoofbeats. "That must be him, now," Dutch said, relieved. They squinted their eyes to see through the trees, and Charlie had come riding into camp. 

Without Arthur. 

The three of them all rushed towards Arthur's horse, looking through the trees again to see if Arthur was maybe following somewhere behind on foot, for whatever reason; he wasn't. "Where is he?" Miss Grimshaw asked the question they'd all been asking the past twenty hours. 

"Let's look through his saddlebags, see if there's anything in here that may give us some clue," Dutch said. Hosea didn't particularly fancy the idea of rifling through their protege's stuff, but if there were a chance for it to give them an idea where Arthur was, then it was worth it. 

So, they got to work. Dutch went over to the other side of Charlie, and he and Hosea calmed the distressed gelding for a few moments before opening the saddlebags and searching. Hosea opened the one on his side as Dutch did the one on his, and Hosea was greeted by glinting iron. 

Arthur's guns and knife. He pulled them out and showed his discovery to Susan and Dutch. "He doesn't have his weapons," Hosea said, not bothering to keep the anxiety out of his tone. 

"Nor his satchel," Dutch added as he pulled the leather bag out. "So, he's somewhere out there with no food, no horse, no tools, and no protection."

"That's it, we have to go looking for him, right now," Hosea said. "Shoulda been lookin' yesterday, he could be long dead by now."

They packed all that they would need for a rescue mission. Medical supplies, in case they found Arthur in a real bad way. Arthur's weapons, and extra ammo, in case he was in the kind of trouble they needed to shoot their way out. Some food and water, making sure to pack extra as Arthur must be starving by now. Hosea took the picture they'd gotten taken of the three of them in Ironlanding and stuck it in his pocket, so they could ask people in town if they'd seen him, if necessary. 

_ Maybe he just got really drunk and passed out somewhere for two days straight _ , a foolish part of him that he knew was outlandish said, a part of him that was just desperately grasping at straws, willing to believe anything as long as it meant Arthur was fine. 

Finished preparing, he and Dutch were off, leaving Susan to guard the camp. As soon as they reached town, they started their search. Dutch looked in the saloon and told Hosea that Arthur was there, but not for two days now. Hosea checked the rather small general store, apparently, he hadn't been there at all. 

They both walked around separate ends of the small town with their pictures, asking around. "Excuse me, have you seen this young man? He's my son. He left home two days ago, said he was comin' into town, but he never came back."

"No, sorry." Was the reply he got for at least an hour, and Hosea was just about to give the idea up when one lady gave him an answer he could work with.

"I did, he saved my life!" She exclaimed. "I was gettin' robbed by some real big, mean fellers- half the size of a house, they were! Your son came in and threatened them, but he was unarmed and outnumbered two to one. They tied him up, threw him on one of their horses, and took off towards the woods."

"Did you see which direction they went?" Hosea asked frantically, glad to have a lead, no matter how small. 'The woods' was a pretty vague answer, after all; the woods near here stretched for miles. The woman, unfortunately, shook her head. 

"No, I'm sorry. The only reason I know they're in the woods is cuz that's where this gang the fellers was in is holed up." She answered. "If you find your son, please let him know that I'm eternally grateful for him savin' me. I hope he's okay."

"Thank you, ma'am, you've been a huge help. Have a nice day." Hosea said, and the lady wished him good luck before Hosea went to look for Dutch. 

Hosea soon found Dutch and told him what the young woman had said. "What are we waiting for, then?" Dutch asked. "Let's go find our boy."

It was past sundown, and they still hadn't found hide nor hair of Arthur. It was beginning to get too dark to see, but they couldn't just leave the search until tomorrow. Arthur was out here somewhere, probably scared out of his mind, possibly beaten or dead. Every second counted. 

So, they searched the woods for hours through the night, their lanterns lighting the way. Dutch sounded like he was about to throw in the towel, the futility of the matter closing in on them when Hosea saw something on the ground. "His hat!" The older man exclaimed as he dismounted and picked it up. It was definitely Arthur's hat, no doubt about it. Dutch looked at it with a hopeful expression as Hosea searched the ground for more clues. "And hoof prints. Very faint, just about gone."

"Then let's follow them!" Dutch said, and so, they did. With the help of their lanterns, they followed the tracks. 

Eventually, Hosea got a bad gut feeling, like they were closing in on the location these tracks led towards. "Snuff your lantern and dismount." He said. He and Dutch both did just that, sneaking through the night, hands on their guns, eyes straining to see the tracks that would hopefully lead them to Arthur. Whether an alive or dead Arthur yet remained to be seen. Obviously, they were hoping for the former, rather than the latter. 

There was a faint light off in the distance, a lantern. Dutch and Hosea quickly and quietly made their way closer. Hiding in the dark and in the brush from a safe distance, they scouted the camp with their binoculars. 

It was hard to see, with barely any light, but there looked to be at least five tents in the camp, which meant at least five men. Hosea could just barely make out two figures at either end of the camp holding rifles. Guards, they'd have to deal with them. And then, in the dim light of a small campfire, Hosea spotted Arthur. Tied to a tree, it looked like.

He tapped Dutch's shoulder and pointed to where the youngest man was, and Dutch soon found him through his binoculars, frowning. Then Hosea pointed out the two guards, and Dutch frowned even harder. "What are we gonna do about them?" The younger man asked at a whisper. 

"You see any others?" Hosea asked. 

"No, just the pair. Could be more, but Hell if I know. It's too goddamn dark out here."

"We should take them silently," Hosea replied. He drew his knife from its sheath, and Dutch followed suit. "I'll take the left, you take the right. We strike at the same time, so neither of them has time to alert other potential undesirables."

"Good idea," Dutch replied. They left the cover of the brush and separately sneaked over to their marks. When they were both behind a guard each, Hosea and Dutch found each other through the darkness. Hosea gave a count to three before they simultaneously grabbed a hold of their respective guard, slitting their throats before slowly lowering their bodies to the ground, not wanting anyone else nearby to hear the thud of a dropping corpse. They rushed to meet in the middle, where Arthur was tied to a tree and froze in their tracks at the state of him. 

Arthur was passed out, angry-looking purple and red bruises all over his face, a few cuts. And those were just a few of the injuries they could see, Hosea was sure there was further damage they couldn't. Dutch worked on cutting him free, and Hosea tried to wake him up. "Arthur? Arthur?" He called quietly as he shook him by the shoulders. "Arthur, wake up."

"No, please, don't-" Arthur whined deliriously, his confused mind apparently thinking Hosea was one of them fellers come back to beat him. His breathing came in quick, short, panicked gasps. 

"Arthur, it's Hosea." The older man replied quietly. "It's just me and Dutch, son, we've come to rescue you."

Arthur opened his swollen eyes slowly, only a little bit before the injuries stopped him. "Hosea…?"

"Yeah, son, it's me. We're here, we're gonna get you out." Hosea replied. Arthur closed his eyes again, head lolling back onto the trunk of the tree. "Hurry up with those ropes, Dutch."

"I'm tryin'," Dutch whispered back with a growl. The ropes finally came loose with one last cut 

"Can you walk, Arthur?" Hosea asked Arthur quietly. The younger man could barely even shake his head in reply. "Alright, I guess I'll have to carry you, then."

There wasn't enough time to register the angry yells before a shot went off and a bullet buried itself into the tree barely even an inch above Arthur's head. It  _ just _ missed him. 

"Dutch, cover us!" Hosea yelled, the jig clearly up. He quickly scooped Arthur into his arms and began to run towards where they left the horses. Once they were finally out of sight and range, Hosea went to put Arthur back down so he could go help Dutch. 

"No, don't- don't leave-"

"I'll be right back in a minute, son," Hosea said as he pried Arthur's fingers from his shirt and gently set him down on the ground in front of a rock he could lean against. "We ain't gonna leave you, we just gotta take care of these fellers first. Soon as they're dealt with, we'll be right back. You're okay now."

Arthur didn't reply, his breathing slowing and evening out. Hosea hurried back to the fight after leaving one of Arthur's guns in the young man's hand- just in case. He probably wouldn't be able to aim for shit, state he was in, but he could probably muster the strength to pull a trigger if he had to, and Hosea felt a bit more secure with that. 

Dutch was all but pinned down when Hosea got back to him. He'd taken down one man, but there were still three more. "Nice of you to finally join me!" The younger man ribbed a bit frantically, raising his voice over the gunfire. 

"Shut up and shoot!" Hosea replied back, not meaning to be so rude, but the situation weren't exactly the best, so he hoped Dutch didn't read too deeply into his misplaced aggression. 

"Of course, I'm goddamn shooting at them, I sure as shit didn't plan on invitin' them for tea!"

Hosea drew his guns from their holsters and the pair kept shooting, ducking out of the way, and shooting some more until the last man finally, blessedly, fell to the ground. "... That could have gone smoother." Hosea said as he tried to calm his racing heart. 

"No shit." Dutch agreed. The pair of them stood there a moment and regained their composure. "Alright." The younger outlaw said after a minute. "Let's get back to Arthur, and get the Hell outta here." 

~~~~~~~~

There was absolutely no way that Arthur could ride a horse with the condition he was in, so they were forced to make camp in those woods for the night. Hosea and Dutch wanted to get at least some space between them and the mess they'd been forced into with that shootout, should any law or otherwise be somewhere near, and since Arthur couldn't mount a horse, that meant the pair of them had to take turns carrying the youngest man for a while. 

Arthur had fully passed out again by the time they got back to him, and he stayed that way as they walked down a small winding trail in the dark, switching every now and then who was carrying Arthur. Onyx and The Duke meandered behind them, indifferent as horses usually were, long as it weren't them or their rider was affected. If Charlie was there, he'd have been all nerves. 

Hosea was right in thinking that some of Arthur's injuries weren't visible at first. Upon further inspection, the boy- young man, it was so hard to stop thinking of him as a child- had cuts and bruises almost all over his upper body. His eyes were swollen shut, nose bloodied but thankfully not broken again. There were two weirdly placed cuts going across his chin that would no doubt scar, but weren't deep enough to be too big of a concern, and were already scabbed over. His lips were puffy and split open in a lot of places. 

There was a big, nasty burn mark, looked like it came from a cigar, on one of Arthur's torn up wrists. Arthur had clearly been struggling against the binds that'd held him, as anyone would in that situation (though it never really did much good, he knew from experience). The rope had rubbed his flesh just about raw. There were also several hand marks on Arthur's neck, deep purple and yellowish-brown bruises that made Hosea feel like he couldn't breathe from past knowledge, knowing what it was like to be choked that hard. Looked like they'd done it more than once, too. He sincerely hoped they'd gotten every last son of a bitch who'd done this to him, and if the rage on Dutch's face as they patched Arthur up was indicative of anything, he was inclined to agree. 

"Do you think he's gonna be okay?" Dutch asked at one point. 

"With time," Hosea assured. "Assumin' none of these cuts get infected. He's got bruised ribs, but that seems to be the worst of it."

With Arthur tended to as best they could, Hosea went and grabbed a spare blanket from Onyx's saddlebag and tucked him in. It wasn't cold, per-se, but there was a bit of a nip on the air, and they'd decided not to make a fire from fear of drawing attention. That and the shirt Arthur'd been wearing before they removed it to search for further damage had been tattered. They didn't particularly wanna go through putting it back on because the pained sounds Arthur had made when they took it off were heart-breaking. Hosea had an extra shirt or two in Onyx's saddlebags the young man could borrow in the morning when he woke up and was able to dress himself. 

"One of us needs to head back to camp and let Susan know that he's okay, the poor woman is probably worried sick about all of us by now," Dutch said at one point. 

"I'd like to stay with him if you wouldn't mind," Hosea replied back. Dutch shook his head. 

"No, not at all. I'll go."

"Thanks. Get some rest when you get there, I can take care of him from here. Meet us back here in the morning."

Dutch didn't say anything else, just gave a nod before exiting the small single person tent they'd all been crammed into, and Hosea heard hoofbeats fading into the distance a moment later. 

The older outlaw looked down at their protege, still asleep, or rather, passed out. Was there much of a difference between the two? The oil lamp casted dull flickers of light over Arthur's battered face as the boy-  _ young man _ \- dozed, breathing steady. He and Dutch had only cleaned the parts of him where they had absolutely needed to, where there were gashes on Arthur's abused body, so there was dirt and mud smeared all over every other part of him. His hair was matted, dirty, and greasy, with an occasional twig, leaf, or blade of dead grass caught in the knots, and Hosea worked carefully to pick out what he could see and get to from this angle. It didn't really do much, was the least of Arthur's issues, but it felt better than sitting there doing nothing. Even unconscious, pain twisted Arthur's expression a little. 

There it was- that same unbridled anger and fierce protectiveness he'd felt two years ago when that bounty hunter held a gun to Arthur's head. Knowing that, if they'd been any later, things could have been so much worse, to where they couldn't save him. Assuming there was even anything left of him to  _ attempt _ to save. The bastards who'd done this clearly didn't mind that their torture could have ended the younger man's life at any point. 

Hosea let out a deep sigh, trying to relax as his blood boiled. What did the men have to gain from doing this to Arthur? They were obviously crooks, but Arthur didn't even have anything on him when they captured him, nor did he really pose a threat. His satchel holding the few valuables he owned was back home, his weapons were with Hosea, Arthur having put all his stuff in Charlie's saddlebags prior to the incident; which was confusing in and of itself, but Hosea didn't dwell on that for too long. The only thing Arthur had were the clothes on his back, though not really anymore, the garments having been reduced to shredded rags. Even Bessie, with her fine mending skills, wouldn't be able to fix it. A shame, since the main victim, after Arthur himself, of course, was Arthur's favorite blue striped shirt. Torn, stained with blood, ruined entirely. Hosea resolved to get him a new one like it, or at least similar, sometime soon. It was getting a bit small, anyway, Arthur was  _ still _ growing, somehow. 

That woman who had told him what happened to Arthur- Arthur had saved her, she said. She was getting robbed, and their tragically kind-hearted protege had foolishly rushed in with no guns to blaze. Given these men held a young man hostage and tortured him for trying to save a lady, it wasn't too far a stretch of the imagination to say the men would've killed her after taking her stuff, or at least harmed her in some way. Arthur had done good, saved a life, and gotten nothing but a brutal beating(s?) as payment. The only silver lining Hosea could find was that Arthur, for all his trouble, had accomplished saving the young woman, and she had indirectly saved him in return, letting Hosea know where they should start looking for him. If the men had killed her anyway, they never would have known where Arthur was, and he'd still be at that camp, being tortured possibly until he was dead. 

He remembered the short conversation he and Arthur had about a week ago, just a few days after that drama near Ironlanding.  _ "What good did we do, Hosea…?" _ Arthur had asked as they sat at the fire after Dutch and Susan had both gone to bed.  _ "Was it really worth it, to save a few people if we had to kill all them others? Wasn't like they was shootin' at us for no reason, we  _ ** _robbed_ ** _ them. They had every right to fire at us, and we dropped them all like flies…" _

_ "Sometimes, a job goes wrong, son." _ Hosea had replied, trying to put Arthur's guilty soul at ease. He couldn't have known the whole thing would end the way it did, none of them could. It was a simple con, one that should have gone off without a hitch, but there were always factors you couldn't help for in this life. In life, in general.  _ "Once we were in it, there wasn't much way around it. All we can do now is move on, and hope we can do better next time _ ."

Arthur hadn't much liked that answer. Hosea couldn't say he was very fond of it, either, but it was the truth, and he never tried to sugarcoat things. Arthur liked to hide behind a veil of stupidity. Hosea figured it some kind of defense mechanism, whether purposeful or not, but the older outlaw could see right through it, that Arthur was so much smarter than he let on or thought he was. Definitely much smarter than most men his age. Lying to him about the horrible facts of life would do neither of them any favors. They'd both know the truth no matter how he answered. 

_ He shouldn't be here _ , a nagging part of Hosea that'd been there the past three years Arthur was with them said.  _ We chose this life, he didn't. Dragging him through all this chaos is just gonna get him killed long before his time. _

But what was Hosea supposed to do about it? Arthur was his own man, had been even when they met him, Hosea couldn't force him into or out of anything. He knew for certain that Arthur wouldn't give up the life, not if it meant leaving Hosea, or Dutch, or both of them. From what Arthur'd told him, it sounded like, before them, the last person to give a shit about him was his mother, who'd passed several years before Arthur was on his own. After that, the young man's father, then the world once the vicious bastard died, convinced Arthur that no one would ever give a damn about him until they saved and cared for him. Dutch, Hosea, Susan, and Bessie were all that Arthur had in this big, cruel world, and it was clear he wasn't gonna give any of that up, too starved of affection and stability until that point to even think about it. 

Hosea would be just fine with giving up the outlaw stuff, much as there'd always be that little voice in the back of his head telling him that he was born to con and rob, that trying to live honestly was just fighting his own nature. He was tired of running, tired of feeling like they were doing more harm than good, much like Arthur was. Sick of constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering how far behind his sins were, how long it'd take for them to catch up. He and Bessie had finally found somewhere his transgressions hadn't followed, the only reason Hosea really came back was for Arthur. Maybe a little bit for Dutch, too, because foolish as the man was, Hosea loved him (which he cursed himself for). They were brothers, best friends, partners. 

But Hosea loved Arthur even more, saw him like the son he and Bessie had never been able to have, and the longer they'd stayed at that quiet little cabin in New Hanover, the more the older man couldn't push the thought of Arthur dying for Dutch's ideals, well-meaning as they were, from his mind. So, he came back, because Dutch wasn't ever going to give the life up, he knew, which meant Arthur wouldn't, either. And someone had to keep them out of trouble, or at least make sure that trouble didn't bite them in the ass too hard. 

Hosea let out a long yawn, exhaustion slowly winning. He'd barely gotten any sleep the night before, staying up half the early hours worrying. And it was already- Hosea checked his pocket watch despite his internal clock usually being pretty accurate- nearly one in the goddamn morning. Arthur was safe now, nothing was gonna happen to him. So, Hosea laid down, trying to give Arthur as much space as possible so he wouldn't disturb his injuries as he turned the lantern off and fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~~

Here was the thing. 

Hosea had known almost since Arthur joined them that the young man had nightmares every now and then. He wasn't ever very explicit about the subject matter of his bad dreams, nor did he ever wake up in the middle of the night screaming, which meant the older man always had very little idea and found out about them too late to really comfort him. 

He didn't scream that night, but he made enough noise to where Hosea stirred out of his sleep, hand going to his gun on instinct before he realized the enemy they were dealing with was not one he could put a bullet into. 

"Arthur…?" Hosea asked groggily as he sat up. Arthur's eyes were scrunched close, face pinched in pain or fear or both as he whimpered and whined. 

"Don't, no, don't, I-" Arthur mumbled incoherently, kicking and turning in his sleep. "Stop…!"

"Arthur, wake up." The older man said quietly, making sure to shake a part of Arthur that wasn't covered in bruises. "Arthur."

Arthur didn't wake up at first, a testament to how hurt he must be, because the young man was always a super light sleeper, even more so than Hosea. "Stop, don't, please-" He whined between shaky breaths. 

"Arthur, wake up."

The young man tried to shoot up as his eyes opened much as they could, but he immediately fell back to the ground with a pained groan as he shook, stuttering gasps falling from his lips as consciousness slowly grasped him. 

"Hey." And Arthur startled, looked like he was about to scramble out of the tent and book it as far as he was able to, not being able to see Hosea in the mostly dark tent. "Calm down, Arthur, it's just me."

"... Hosea?" He sounded a bit more alert than he did when they rescued him, so that was a good sign, meant that even after only a few hours of being patched up, that the young man was going to be okay. 

"It's me," Hosea confirmed. "You're alright, Arthur."

Arthur's breathing slowly evened out. "Where are we?" The younger man asked. 

"Had to make camp for the night," Hosea told him. "You wasn't in any shape to ride a horse, so we patched you up here best we could."

"Where's Dutch?"

"Back at camp, letting Susan know we're all okay. He'll be back with us in the morning."

Actually, it looked like it was already nearing morning, dim gray light just barely pushing past the thick canvas of the tent, probably much brighter outside than it was in there. But Dutch would have already gotten back to camp and gone to bed by now, so it'll be much later in the morning, possibly the afternoon before he woke and joined him and Arthur out there. Which Hosea was fine with because personally, he felt like he could still sleep for another twelve hours, given the chance. 

"Them fellers…?" Arthur asked uneasily. 

"All dead, I think," Hosea replied. Arthur's voice sounded like his throat was all torn up, and mending him up earlier, the older man remembered how the young man's lips had looked as dried and cracked as the desert. So he reached into his satchel that he'd left at his feet when he laid down and pulled his canteen out. "Here, son, have some water." He unscrewed the lid and held it out to him. 

Arthur snatched it up desperately, which usually Hosea would have chided him for, but he reckoned he'd do the same if he was tied to a tree and beaten for two days straight, as well. The young man propped himself up on one of his elbows, and then Arthur drank like he'd never known the coolness of water before and would never get another chance to find out. He just about drained the entire thing before passing it back, and Hosea put it back away. He had packed extra for this very reason, three more canteens in Onyx's saddlebags. "Thank you," Arthur said quietly as he laid back down, a small groan escaping him as he did. He closed his swollen eyes again. 

"Any time, son," Hosea replied. "Let's get back to sleep, we still have a few hours before Dutch gets here." 

Arthur only nodded, and Hosea waited until their protege's breathing had slowed and evened out once more before going back to sleep himself.


	19. I Can't Quite Remember Just What Guided Me This Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I wonder how many words Dutch said in this chapter. Feels like a lot. 
> 
> *does the math*
> 
> Calculator: 621
> 
> Me: 0-0
> 
> So um......... Yeah enjoy the slightly longer chapter xD

Arthur felt like absolute shit. 

He spent the entire ride back to camp behind Hosea in the saddle, and the events of the past few days had him exhausted into a slump, leaning most of his weight against the older man. Hosea didn't mind, thankfully, but Arthur still felt bad for making him and Dutch risk their necks for him the way they had. Moving hurt, breathing hurt, just _ being _, hurt. His eyes were so swollen he could barely keep them open, so he didn't bother, listening to horse hooves and birds chirping as he, Dutch, and Hosea headed towards camp. 

When they got there, Hosea helped Arthur down from Onyx. Arthur was able to walk on his own now, already much better off than when his mentors had found him, having had medical attention, food, water, and some rest. And then just the comfort of being back with his surrogate fathers. He was gonna go lay down when Miss Grimshaw rushed over. 

"Arthur! Thank God you're okay!" She exclaimed happily. His injuries must have registered to her then, as she recoiled and gasped. "Oh, you look awful…! What did those bastards do to you?"

"They beat me up, Miss Grimshaw," Arthur answered her simply, even though he was sure Dutch already told her as much. 

"I trust these sons of bitches are no longer with us."

"Oh, we made sure of that," Dutch replied. 

Arthur went to tip his hat at her, only to remember he no longer had it, and that made him a bit depressed for reasons he could not fathom. He wanted to burn the damn thing barely a week ago. "Looking for this?"

He turned to look at Hosea, who produced the worn leather hat from thin air, it seemed. "You found it?" Arthur asked incredulously. 

"It's what led us to you," Hosea said as the older man handed the hat to him. Arthur put it on his head, still a bit too big for him, even after all these years. 

"Thanks, Hosea."

"No problem, son," Hosea replied with a smile. "Go get some rest, we'll wake you for supper."

Arthur ate dinner the same way he'd eaten breakfast that morning; ferociously, as though if he waited it'd be taken away, or disappear off his plate somehow. After two days of nothing but a single measly portion (if you could even call it a portion) of stale crackers and _ goddamned assorted salted offal _, even something as simple as rabbit cooked over the fire and canned carrots was like Heaven on Arthur's palette. Not to mention his stomach. Susan, Dutch, and Hosea watched him tear at the food like a feral animal, and he knew it was concerning to them, given he usually pecked at his food like a bird. Frankly, though, he could not find it in him to care too much. They wasn't the ones tied to a tree and tormented for two days. 

Arthur couldn't quite process everything he'd gone through. He wasn't traumatized, as such, but he definitely wasn't okay, either. He'd always thought he had it bad when his pa was still alive and would constantly beat him, but the crooks who'd kidnapped him had made Lyle Morgan look like a softy. His daddy had never gotten as close to pummeling Arthur within an inch of his life as those men in the woods did. 

Maybe because Lyle needed to keep him alive so he always had someone to beat on when he couldn't find some innocent stranger. 

Hosea told Arthur the only reason they were able to find him was because the young lady Arthur had saved from those fellers recognized him in their picture, pointed him and Dutch in the right way. She was, apparently, eternally grateful for Arthur's sacrifice. 

Arthur was glad she was okay, as it would have sucked to have gone through all that bullshit for nothing. At the same time, though, he was pissed. 

He could kill folks and get paid for it at the end of the day, but when he tried to do good, he got the whooping of a lifetime? How the Hell did that work? It wasn't fair, and it only did to make Arthur more confused than he already had been. Was evil the only way to keep from being hurt? Was the only way to stay safe to become jaded and hardened, not giving a damn about anyone but himself? What ever happened to karma? 

_ No _, he told himself. Being the worst he could be wouldn't keep him safe, either. Because his father had been a cruel son of a bitch, and he was dead. That bounty hunter from two years ago, Mr. James Austin, seemed to be a bastard, and he was no longer here, either. Evil, good, it didn't matter; everyone bled, everyone died. 

_ Lord, help me _, he thought, though he didn't believe in a Lord, to begin with. 

On the subject of his father's hat. Arthur was equal parts glad and annoyed Hosea had found it. It was such a stupid, silly thing, to be so conflicted over a goddamn hat, and yet Arthur had been since he picked it up three years ago. Lyle Morgan had worn the hat almost every single day up until his death. He wore it as he got arrested when Arthur was eleven, and when he escaped. He wore it when Arthur's mother died. He wore it when he turned to the life of a vindictive criminal. He'd been wearing it just a few short hours before he died. 

The hat had seen a lot of bullshit, had seen a lot of peoples' deaths at his father's hands. To keep it as his own made Arthur feel like he was falling down a slippery slope, more and more like Lyle every day. He'd worn it for his own egregious acts already, and it didn't help the feeling. 

The last thing Arthur wanted was to end up like Lyle Morgan, remembered for nothing more than his heinous crimes. He didn't want to be a bad man, or at least not _ that _ horrible. He'd never be able to live with himself. 

And yet, he'd been wearing the hat as he helped Hosea and Dutch kill Ruth's family. She'd never see Arthur again, nor would she see her family. But he was sure she'd remember him, and the fading black leather hat on his head. And not in a good way, obviously. 

Arthur spent the entire time recovering from the beatings in the woods being pissed off. Pissed off, and conflicted, and confused. He wanted to burn the hat, wanted to ride the long journey back to his childhood home to throw it on the floor and leave it far behind. He wanted to throw Lyle's mugshot off the cliff they were camped on. He wanted his father's terrible actions to stop defining him in his own mind, to forget the man had existed, that he'd been related to such a nasty, no good, horrible bastard. 

He snapped, quite often, at Hosea, Dutch, and Susan, who were all just trying to help him. They didn't even yell back at him, just put their hands up in surrender before walking off. It only made Arthur feel worse. Arthur wanted to chalk it up to nerves, or just being in a mood because of what he'd been through, because his favorite shirt had been ruined, he still had knots and grease in his hair, dirt, and mottled bruises on his skin; all of which Miss Grimshaw kindly overlooked for the time being because he definitely couldn't bathe, with how roughed up he was. But it wasn't that. 

He was just so goddamn _ angry _. At himself, the men who'd captured him, his dead father, the world. He was angry about the fact that he was angry, so the feeling just never simmered down. 

He healed. The bruises faded, the cuts got less noticeable, he could open his eyes fully again within a week. Soon as he was well enough to wash up he did, though not in town because he still didn't look entirely right and he'd never liked eyes on him even when he wasn't covered in fading injuries. 

But he was still so _ angry _. 

Hosea and Dutch's voices were a buzz in Arthur's ears as they all sat around the fire, his mentors looking over a map. "See, Indiana sounds like a good next move, but I ain't so sure we should go back to Illinois, after all that dust we kicked up in Kettering," Hosea said. 

"Well, it ain't like we're goin' back to Kettering," Dutch replied. "Besides, we still have the rest of Kentucky, then all of Indiana to get through. By the time we get anywhere remotely close to Kettering, it'll have been… Shit, eight, maybe nine years if we take our time, since that drama?"

"Which means we been workin' together for about five years now," Hosea said a bit fondly. 

"Time's arrow slows for no one."

"'Specially when you're havin' as much fun as we do."

The duo laughed, likely reminiscing trouble they'd gotten into before they'd picked Arthur up, and the excursions since then. "You remember that cop in Kettering?" Dutch asked a moment later, his chuckling never ceasing. 

"Of course, I ain't that old, yet."

"Oh, you ain't old. Just… Experienced."

"That's just another way to say old with more letters."

"Such a bubble burster, you," Dutch said back. "What do you think, Arthur? Should we keep headin' to Illinois?"

Arthur scowled as he stoked the fire with a stick. "What's the point?"

"What was that?" Dutch asked, having not heard Arthur's answer. 

"I said," Arthur threw the stick into the fire and stood to his feet, "what's the point?!"

His outburst startled all of them, Copper and the horses included. 

"Alright, why exactly have you had a bee up your bonnet the past week, when we ain't done shit to deserve it?" Dutch finally asked, apparently done dancing around Arthur's angst. 

"You wanna know what my problem is, Dutch?" Arthur asked, breath coming out in heavy puffs as he tightened his hands into fists. 

"Dutch, don't push him," Hosea warned. 

"Enlighten me." Dutch ignored him. 

"The reason I got a _ bee up my bonnet _ , or whatever _ dumb shit _ just came outta your fool mouth, is that I been comin' on these jobs for- what, a year now? And we don't really seem to be doin' much'a anything!" Arthur answered. "My problem is I'm sick o' killin' folk for _ no reason _, other than cuz you wanna… What, feed a couple poor, impoverished bastards?"

Dutch would usually rise to the argument, as he and Arthur'd always butted heads, but he was shocked into silence, as were Hosea and Susan; though, she'd not really been very active in the conversation, to begin with. Arthur was almost glad Bessie wasn't here, with all the curses flying from his own mouth with no abandon. 

"All we do is run, kill, steal, lie, sleep in the dirt and run some more!" Arthur continued. "Why's this bullshit the only way you can think to accomplish that, huh? _ What's the point _ of savin' some folk if you gotta hurt others to do it?"

"I don't think I like your tone of voice, son." Dutch finally spoke up, a bit of a growl behind his voice. 

"Oh, spare me with that 'son' bullshit!" Arthur yelled back. "You ain't my pa, he's long dead, prob'ly nothin' more'n bones in the ground two states back! And all that son of a bitch ever did was steal, lie, kill, and run, too!"

"Arthur, calm down, please." Hosea tried to pacify him. "Let's talk this out rationally."

"No!" Arthur screamed, taking the hat off his head and throwing it to the ground. "You _ know _ I'm right, Hosea! Maybe not this damn fool, but you do!"

"That's enough, Arthur," Hosea said firmly, raising his voice a little but not rising to the bait to start hollering. "Go take a ride, and don't come back til you cool down, for everyone's sake."

"Fine!" Arthur exclaimed, kicking a rock into the fire pit, turning on his heel and storming towards the hitching posts. "Don't wait up! Y'all'll be better to head to Illinois without me slowin' you down, anyway! Have fun robbin' and shootin' some poor bastards without me!"

"We'll have a plate ready for you at dinner," Hosea called back, clearly not believing that Arthur would stay gone. Arthur wished _ he _ could even believe he was leaving for good, much less that he could actually go through with it. He couldn't, he knew. 

In that moment, it didn't matter. Even if Hosea hadn't sent him off, Arthur likely would have left, anyway, too disgusted with his mentors and himself to stand to look at them right now. He only turned back around to pick up the abandoned hat, never meeting Dutch, Hosea, or Miss Grimshaw's eyes be he stormed back the other way towards Charlie. He was so angry that he stumbled to pull himself up into the saddle, but as soon as he was mounted up, Arthur gave a "Yah!" and spurred Charlie into a full gallop right away, wanting to get as far as possible. 

Arthur rode for at least ten minutes before he dismounted at a lake nearby, picking up sticks and rocks and tossing them as far as he could, pacing as his blood boiled. There was nothing for him to do with all this goddamn anger, and that made him even more pissed off. 

He never expected Dutch to understand, but Hosea, too? Arthur could tell the older man felt the same way he did about the subject, or at least similarly (probably not as goddamn angry as Arthur was, though). Hosea hated killing folk, too, and yet, it felt like the older man had taken Dutch's side back there. 

_ 'Course, he took Dutch's side. They known each other a lot longer than they known me. Would probably take his side if there were a gun to his head and his life depended on him not. _

Arthur sat beside the water, still fuming. He looked out at the glass-like lake, little water bugs and dragonflies dancing on top of its clear surface. A breeze blew by, the kind that told Arthur that summer would be over soon enough. Normally, he'd feel at ease, sitting by himself surrounded by so much beauty, but he was too pissed to enjoy it. 

Arthur made the mistake of looking at his reflection in the water, and almost saw a mirror of his father looking back at him, leather hat and all. He'd always known he looked like Lyle, much more than he looked like his mother, but right then it was the last thing he needed to see. At this point, the only thing unique about his appearance was the two scabbed over cuts on his chin he just _ knew _ were gonna scar. _ So much for ever having a full beard _. Now, even once it was coming in right everywhere else, there'd be those two little spots where hair would refuse to grow. 

Arthur slapped the water's surface to make the mirror image of his father go away with a scowl, and somehow that just made the resemblance even more uncanny. So, he turned, back to the water as he sat there, taking the hat off his head and laying it in his lap. 

Why couldn't he get rid of this damn thing? Why was he so incessant about keeping it? On top of it still being the slightest bit too big for him, which wasn't likely to change at this point, there were too many memories associated with it, and he didn't even really like how it looked. It baked his head in the sun, something he was sure he'd regret once they made it out further southwest, where the weather was apparently unbearably hotter. 

Hate his father as much as he had, and still did, the hat was the last real piece of his daddy Arthur had. 

A reminder, maybe, to not follow in his footsteps, though he hadn't taken it with that thought in mind. The idea of it sitting on the hat rack collecting dust back in his old home in Maryland sat sourly with him for some reason, after over a decade of the thing being worn almost every day. It wasn't like Arthur'd had any personal effects, and Lyle got rid of his mother's a few months after she passed, looking at her things too painful for both of them. He was glad the picture of her stayed, honestly. 

So, besides the picture of his mother and Lyle's mugshot, the hat was the only real piece of his home and life before Dutch and Hosea that Arthur had. Even if there was more to go back for, it was likely someone had already moved into the empty cabin in the woods Arthur had called home for the majority of his life, and so all that hypothetical stuff would be gone by now. He wasn't about to travel back two states for possibly nothing. Didn't really fancy the idea of straying that far from the only familiarity he had, anyway. 

Why was he still so upset about all those things that happened, those eight years between momma dying and a pair of outlaws taking him in? Lyle Morgan was dead, had been for a little over three years now. None of the bruises currently on Arthur were from him, none of the ones in the future would be, either. 

_ But what if I've just gone and found another monster to worry about? _

He hated that little voice in the back of his head that compared Dutch to his father, but he knew that was the real issue here. Whenever Dutch would get real cross with Arthur, he wouldn't use his fists as weapons, unlike his father, but rather his words. At the end of the day, though, that feeling of anxiousness and having to tip-toe around as to not make things worse remained. And maybe, just maybe, Arthur was a bit scared of the day Dutch might get tired of using his words (unlikely as that seemed, all the man did was talk). He was terrified of the possibility of following a mad-man into causing nothing but misery and pain, just like Lyle. 

_ "We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed them as need feeding." _ Arthur's slightly older mentor had said several times now. Lyle never would have thought, much less said such a thing. 

So why was he comparing Dutch to his father, anyway? Why was he scared of Dutch turning out to be someone else when the older man had done nothing but shown him and lots of others kindness? Arthur thought back to the first time Dutch rattled that saying off to him, back in Riverton them three years ago. That starving feller sitting outside the bank- what was his name? Bobby?- shaking his empty tin cup, and Dutch had gone over and given him more than he ever could have hoped for. 

Lyle Morgan would have killed Bobby or whatever his name was and taken whatever the poor man had managed to make before spitting on his corpse and spending it all on liquor. Clearly, Dutch and Lyle were two very different people. 

That was all mostly besides the point. The reason Arthur was so angry was that it felt like they were shooting more fellers than they needed to, saving and feeding less than they could. All the while, worrying about the law, and bounty hunters, and apparently now rival gangs, though the one they'd dealt with recently was just that; dealt with. 

It didn't matter too much, he supposed. Arthur was in too deep. He couldn't go off on his own, had too many things stacked against him in order to ever be able to truly run away from the things he'd already done. More than that, though, the thought of being alone terrified him, and the world had made it clear plenty of times that short month or more after his pa died and he was on his own. 

So, back to Hosea and Dutch, it was, then. 

He'd stayed out there by the water for several hours, calming himself down as best he could before mounting up and slowly riding back to camp. It was just about dark when he got there. Arthur gave Charlie a few pats, some apples, untacked his saddle and brushed him down until his coat was gleaming in the last bits of the late evening sun, stalling. He wasn't entirely ready to face them yet. 

After there was nothing more Arthur could do for Charlie, having gone through the whole list of everything he'd possibly need, Arthur gave him a few more pats before making his way into camp. If he'd had a tail, it would have been tucked between his legs; lacking one, his shoulders were hunched uneasily and he kept his eyes on the ground, walking slowly. 

"Look at that, you're back," Dutch said with a cold tone from the table he was sat at. Arthur didn't look up at him. "I trust you've cooled yourself down, Mr. Morgan."

It stung to hear his last name from Dutch's mouth. His mentor only addressed him like that when he was pissed off, or when they were about to go on a job and the slightly older man was in 'leader mode'. They wasn't going on a job. But, Arthur was the one to tell Dutch not to call him son, so he supposed it was his own fault. Arthur didn't reply and still definitely didn't look Dutch in the eye. Just nodded a little, gambler hat on his head hopefully blocking his face from view. 

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Dutch asked next, flicking the next page in the newspaper he was reading boredly. 

"'M sorry," Arthur replied quietly. 

"For?" Dutch pushed. An apology was never good enough for him unless Arthur admitted everything he'd done wrong. 

"'M sorry for yelling at y'all. And calling you a fool. Bein' rude all week..." Arthur replied. "And for… doubting you." Because if there was anything Dutch hated, it was Arthur's doubting, which he showed on full display during his little fit earlier. "I'll try not to do it again."

"Apology accepted," Dutch said. Arthur turned to slink away, knowing he still had the unpleasantry ahead of apologizing to Hosea and Susan, before Dutch said, "Hold up there, cowboy." making Arthur immediately freeze in his tracks. 

"... Yeah, Dutch…?"

"Sit down." His mentor said. "We're gonna talk about this like grown men, 'stead of squabbling like children."

Arthur slowly turned back around to face the table Dutch was sitting at as he cleared his throat awkwardly. He still couldn't look him in the eye, his shoulders were still tense. "I, um… Need to apologize to Hosea…"

"Hosea's patient, and likely has already forgiven you."

"Uh, Miss Grimshaw-"

"She can wait, as well," Dutch replied, a bit of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Besides, seemed like your main issue was with me. Come sit, Arthur." Having run out of excuses, Arthur walked slowly over to the table like a kicked dog. He pulled out the chair across from Dutch at the table and sat. "Look at me." The slightly older man ordered flatly, and despite the fact he didn't want to, Arthur obeyed. There was a storm brewing behind Dutch's dark eyes… "I have been sitting here for hours tryin' to figure out exactly what your deal is." He said after a moment. Arthur wanted to look back down at the table but didn't, swallowing thickly with shame as he kept staring his mentor in the eyes. Trying to convey some idea of what exactly his 'deal' was, to make the man see reason, but the message didn't get through. "Needless to say, I'm stumped. So, go ahead. Explain yourself."

"I…" Arthur was completely lost for what to say. What was he supposed to tell him? Arthur could hardly understand it all himself and had never been very skilled with speaking the way Dutch or Hosea were. He'd never be able to find the right words. "I'm… I don't know."

"I ain't askin' just to argue with you, Arthur," Dutch said, as though Arthur were just being difficult. "This mood of yours didn't start til you got home after that incident. If there's something wrong, you need to _ tell _ us, not take it out on us."

Arthur couldn't help but scoff at that as he glanced back down at the ground again, feeling his anger start to bubble back to the surface, sitting there, feeling like an animal in a cage. _ Calm down. _ "I been in a 'mood' since sixteen."

"Never like this," Dutch argued and then tapped a bit rough on the table a few times, startling Arthur a bit as his attention went back to the older man. "Eyes up here, I'm talkin' to you."

Arthur felt himself fall back into old habits without his permission, shifting in his seat, fidgeting with his hands as he curled in on himself. The hat felt heavy on his head. "Can- can I just go, please?" He asked a bit pathetically. "I'm just… Tired, is all. And I'm sure I'll be in a much better mood tomorrow-"

"No, you ain't getting outta this that easily," Dutch replied. "All I'm asking is _ what's wrong _. It's a simple question, Arthur, shouldn't be that hard to answer. I ain't askin' for a whole oral report here."

"I don't _ know,_" Arthur answered again. "Please, Dutch, I just… Don't know how to answer that, okay...?"

With the last of day's light gone, the only thing to illuminate their otherwise dreary conversation was an oil lamp, casting flickers onto Dutch's conflicted expression. "This about that girl?" He pushed further. "What was her name? Ruby?"

"Ruth."

"You catch feelings for her or something?"

"_ No_." Arthur spat out a little too aggressively because it wasn't like that at all. She was just a friend, the only one besides Dutch, Hosea, Susan, and Bessie he'd ever really had. Someone outside of their world, just a normal girl in the normal world dealing with normal stuff. Not the conflict of morality and justice Arthur fought so hard against day in and out. 

"Your tone," Dutch warned simply.

"She's a good person," Arthur said firmly. "And we just shot up her family after taking their shit. How is that helping anyone?"

"What exactly do you think that girl is doing right now, Arthur?"

The question was a bit out of the blue, and Arthur blinked a few times, suddenly puzzled. "You mean besides mourning the poor bastards we killed?"

"Sarcasm is beneath you," Dutch said, even though Arthur wasn't trying to be sarcastic. The way he phrased it implied that yes, he meant besides mourning. 

"I guess she's at home. Maybe readin' a book or something."

"Right, _ at home,_" Dutch replied, and Arthur was still confused. "Think, Arthur. She's at home right now, probably eating a nice hearty dinner, and then she'll go to sleep in a nice, warm bed. Think about all the poor women, children, and men out there, starving and freezing in alleys all over the world right now. You think she's gonna help any of them? The rich are corrupt, every last one of them. The reason they're rich is because they're greedy, privileged, and figured out how to gain from others' suffering."

"But-"

"But, nothing," Dutch said. "You wanna know what the wealthy do? They stay as far away from the poor as they possibly can. They make factories that pour smog into the air, build railroads that destroy the land and harm the wildlife. You know bison can't cross train tracks? They get confused by the straight lines cuz there ain't no such thing in nature. So, they get stuck, and they die, cuz they're separated from the protection of their herds, and can't find food or water."

"... Oh..."

"All the wealthy do is take, and destroy, and kill." Dutch continued. "They never give back. At least when we take and kill, we're doing something with what we stole. We have to exist to give those spoils back to the people the well-off took it from because the rich won't. They never have, and never will."

"... All of them?"

"Every last one," Dutch confirmed. Arthur felt his mood sink even further at that. "So, stop having a guilty conscience. Hosea and I _ never _ pick marks that can't afford to lose a little, with all the gains they've kept to themselves, away from the hard-working poor unfortunates they took it from."

All the conflicting thoughts swirled around Arthur's head, but he nodded in understanding, at least some of it making a bit of sense at the surface level. He didn't really have the time to dwell on it now, to think it through any further, and frankly, didn't much want to. "Okay." He conceded. 

"Was that it?" Dutch asked. Arthur nodded. He still would never be able to explain it fully to him, couldn't even fully understand it himself. He just wanted to apologize to Hosea and Miss Grimshaw, eat dinner, then go to bed. Maybe skip dinner, actually. He wasn't particularly hungry. "Go on, then. You're dismissed."

Arthur nodded once again before tipping his hat at the slightly older man, turning on his heel, and trying not to let it show in his step how eager he was to put some space between them. He didn't wanna see him anymore, not tonight. 

Arthur found Hosea by the fire as he knew he would. He sat on a log next to the one Hosea was wordlessly. There was an untouched plate sitting on a crate next to him. "Saved you a plate." The older man said, not nearly as coldly as how Dutch had greeted Arthur, but with a certain level of distance to it. He would never rise to Arthur's misdirected anger. 

"Ain't hungry," Arthur replied. 

"Starving yourself ain't gonna make you feel any better," Hosea replied, but he didn't push. Thank God that Hosea knew when not to push. 

"I'm sorry," Arthur said after a moment, and only that, because the older man never forced Arthur into spilling his guts like Dutch did. 

"I know. It's okay." Hosea said. "We all blow up every now and then, just makes you human."

"Still."

Hosea shrugged, pulled out a pack of smokes and offered one to Arthur, which the younger gladly accepted. Hosea struck a match and lit his own cigarette before lighting Arthur's, then threw the match into the fire. "You wanna talk about it?" The older man asked as Arthur took a puff from the cigarette, smoke filling his lungs and calming his nerves. 

"Not really."

"Alright," Hosea said. "You ever want to, let me know. I'll listen."

"I know," Arthur said quietly. "Thanks, Hosea." 

"No problem, son."

For the first time in more than a week, Arthur smiled. Not a large grin, but it was something. He cherished any scrap of joy thrown his way, these days.

After finishing the cigarette and picking at his plate, Arthur apologized to Miss Grimshaw. "Oh, don't worry about me." She said. "I have thick skin. And anyway, weren't me you was throwin' them words at."

So, that was that. He said goodnight to all of them, even managed a small one to Dutch, before Arthur retired to his tent, laid down, and went to bed. He could deal with the swirling thoughts and conflicts tomorrow; he was going to, regardless.


	20. Maybe Chicago Ain't So Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was the most beautiful girl Arthur had ever seen, and he felt himself freeze up as they stared at each other. The girl had doll-like chocolate brown eyes and hair to match that was swept back into a braided bun. There was a beauty mark on her left cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple new faces in this chapter. :3
> 
> Also a pretty large timeskip. They were in 1881, now it's 1885.
> 
> Anyways, hope y'all enjoy this chapter.

** _January, 1885_ **

Arthur  _ hated _ Chicago. Too loud, too crowded, too many things happening all at one time. 

Now, they weren't working there, because Chicago had a large police force and none of the three outlaws had a death wish; but they were staying there, as Dutch said that they could blend in better with the crowd. Hiding in plain sight, he called it. 

They were all staying at the cheapest hotel in the city, which meant a nice, warm bed to ward off the cold, winter nights, and they didn't have to cook their meals over a fire, opting instead to eat at the local saloon. Their tents and everything else they had when they camped were stashed somewhere outside Chicago's limits, hidden well. They wouldn't need any of it until they left Illinois, or at least this part of Illinois. 

Dutch had no intention of leaving any time soon. Arthur kind of figured as much. With how big the city was, they'd be able to stay here for a nice, long while before anyone even started to grow suspicious of them, meaning every town in a twenty-mile radius would be fair game.

Being hidden as they were meant Bessie was staying with them, as well, and it felt wonderfully nostalgic. Hosea was happier, which made everyone else happier. Arthur'd be lying if he said Bessie's presence didn't make him happy, as well. He always missed the older woman more than he'd like to admit. Susan was great and all, but Arthur loved Bessie more. She was far more maternal and patient than Miss Grimshaw was. 

A fairly new addition to their group was a lazy, middle-aged alcoholic. Despite not being anyone's actual Uncle, that was what he called himself. Uncle didn't do much other than nap and drink, but he got good information and had apparently saved Dutch's life, so they put up with him. Arthur tried several times to find out the man's real name, as calling him Uncle was weird, but Uncle would always just dodge the question. So, Arthur had given up, resigning to the idea of calling him Uncle even with as awkward as it made him feel. 

Another fairly recent addition to their group was Arthur's new horse, by the name of Boadicea. Charlie had gotten sick a little under a year ago, and there weren't much that could be done for him. In the end, when it was clear Charlie wasn't gonna recover, Arthur had put the poor horse out of his misery with a shotgun shell to the head. It hurt something awful, as he'd had Charlie for about five years; but it hurt more to watch him suffer, and so Arthur had put an end to it. He kept one of Charlie's horseshoes as a good luck charm and something to remember the steed by, made sure to comfort him in those last few moments and thank him for all the miles he'd helped Arthur travel. It didn't hurt as much anymore, as Arthur had gotten used to the idea of death by now. He'd seen plenty of it.

Death was, unfortunately, inevitable for every living thing, himself included. So, he moved on. 

Boadicea was a great horse, too, though. She had a shiny black coat with light brown spots, and a flowing white mane and tail. She was fast and brave, rarely spooking. Boadicea was a warhorse, and so Arthur had named her after a Celtic Queen who'd helped defeat the Romans. She threw Arthur off a lot less often than Charlie ever did, was the type of horse to stomp on a snake sooner than spook from it, and didn't run from gunfire. Arthur was glad to have such a nice horse, even if it meant losing Charlie. 

Best not to dwell on it, he supposed. It was a while ago now, anyway. 

Arthur, Hosea, Bessie, Susan, Uncle, and Dutch were all sat around a table in the back room of the hotel, cards in hand and poker chips in the middle. They almost all had a beer within reach, save for Bessie who didn't like drinking very often. Smoke wafted off their cigarettes, from their lungs, and filled the room as sunlight streamed in the window. Arthur was currently the poorest, losing horribly. 

"I swear, y'all're a buncha goddamn cheaters." He cursed, throwing his losing hand on the table as Hosea raked in the rewards of his winning one. 

"We ain't cheating, you're just bad at this game." Dutch denied. 

"Or, you just have really bad luck," Hosea added. 

"No, I agree with Dutch. Boy just sucks at poker." Uncle chipped in with a dumb chuckle as he took a sip of his beer. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. Normally, he'd argue about not being a boy, that he was twenty-one years old, plenty grown enough to be treated as an adult; but, he supposed once one got to be Uncle's age (which none of them really had a number on, Arthur was guessing late thirties to early forties, maybe), everyone was a kid. 

"I don't know about these hooligans, but Bessie and I are most definitely not cheating." Miss Grimshaw said as the cards were all passed to her and she shuffled them. "It ain't lady-like." 

"Neither's poker," Uncle said, and Miss Grimshaw cuffed him upside the head good. "Ow…! Neither is hittin' a feller!" And then she did it again, harder this time. "Ow!"

Miss Grimshaw and Uncle fought like cats and dogs. If there were anything Susan hated, it was laziness, and Uncle was the epitome of lazy. Arthur also reckoned it had to do with the man's constant attempts at courting her, though his comments were mostly innocent and he never tried forcing himself onto her. 

In the end, Bessie ended up winning the game, surprising everyone as she didn't play very often. Luck must have been on her side, or she just had a really good poker face and  _ had _ been cheating the entire time, contrary to Susan's claim that neither of the ladies were. The rest of them swore and tossed their cards down in a fit as Bessie smiled, seeming pleased with herself. "Pleasure playing with you all." She said a bit smugly. 

"Damn it all," Arthur said. He stood from the table with a sigh and polished off the rest of his beer, then set the empty bottle down on the table. "I'm headed out, then. Gonna do some light pilferin'."

"Don't get caught," Hosea said. 

"'Course. See y'all in a few hours." 

Arthur tipped his hat as they all bid him good-bye, then he put his coat and gloves on, left the hotel, and began wandering the streets of Chicago. There were too many goddamn people to where Arthur never bothered riding Bo (that was the short name he gave her when 'Boadicea' was too much of a mouthful), unless he was leaving the city, the streets too crowded for him to want to. Everyone hollerin' at each other to get out of the way, the occasional crash or two when some asshole decided to ride too quickly through the busy streets. 

Arthur, stupidly, wasn't looking where he was going, instead at the architecture looming over. Hosea told him when they entered Chicago that almost all of these buildings were new, that there'd been a fire a little over a decade ago that consumed a third of the city because everything before had been made of wood. His feet took him towards the saloon a few blocks away on instinct. 

Which is how he ended up bumping into a young lady, knocking her to the ground. Startled, Arthur snapped his head to look down at her, feeling his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. "Oh, sh-" he cut himself off, too many children running around for him to want to use foul language. "I'm so sorry, miss. I wasn't looking where I was goin'- lemme help you up."

He held his hand out to her and she took it, then he pulled her back to her feet. "It's alright, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going, either." She said. 

She was the most beautiful girl Arthur had ever seen, and he felt himself freeze up as they stared at each other. The girl had doll-like chocolate brown eyes and hair to match that was swept back into a braided bun. There was a beauty mark on her left cheek. 

After realizing he'd been standing there like a fool staring at her stupidly for a few moments too long, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I, um, I'm still sorry, 'bout uh, knocking you over. I'll buy you a new dress if I got yours dirty."

"I think I'll be alright." She said with a smile. "What's your name, sir?"

"Um, my- my name?" Arthur asked, tongue-tied. "It's, uh, Arthur. Arthur Morgan."

She held her hand out to him, and he shook it, eyes transfixed on hers. "Nice to meet you, Arthur Morgan. My name is Mary. Mary Gillis."

"Pleasure to meet you, as well, Miss Gillis." He chuckled nervously. She giggled a little, and Arthur thought it was the most gorgeous sound in the world, making him grin like an idiot. 

"I was on my way to this lovely little coffeehouse a few blocks away. Would you like to join me, Mr. Morgan? Assuming you ain't busy."

Arthur felt this sudden tug of war inside himself. He was gonna go pick-pocket some poor fools, but Chicago was big, and if he turned her down, he'd likely never see her again. The thought of that sat sourly with him. "Um… Yeah, sure. I ain't got nothin' goin' on." He fibbed. Dutch would surely nag at him when Arthur came back empty-handed, as he always did. Arthur didn't much care, not right then, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur wasn't paying much attention to everything going on around him, only the beautiful girl sat in front of him. 

Mary apparently came from a well-off family, though Arthur never got the details on what it was her family did. He didn't really care. Mary did volunteer work in her spare time, which threw Arthur through a loop. 

_ "All the wealthy do is take, and destroy, and kill. They never give back." _

Seemed like Dutch had been wrong, because here Arthur was, drinking coffee with a rich girl who'd go and read to the orphans or work in a soup kitchen sometimes. "What is it that you do, Mr. Morgan?" She asked at some point, and Arthur nearly choked on his coffee. 

"Uh…" He tried to think of what to tell her. He didn't wanna lie to her, but he couldn't really tell her the truth either. "Odd jobs, here and there." He finally settled on. Not the truth, but not a lie, either. 

The answer was good enough for her, apparently. She didn't delve any deeper. "What do you do for fun?"

"I play a little poker," Arthur replied, thinking back on the game from earlier. "I draw, sometimes."

"Really?" Mary asked. Arthur nodded. "I'd love to see your work, sometime. If you wouldn't mind showing me, of course."

"I have it with me right now, actually," Arthur said, pulling his journal out. This one hadn't been a present from Hosea, unlike most of the others. Arthur had bought it with his own money, deciding that he was getting a little too old for Hosea to be buying him a place where Arthur could spill his guts. Hosea did get him a really nice specialty pencil for his past birthday, though, along with a bottle of imported whiskey. "You can flip through if you like." He said as he put it down on the table. 

Generally, Arthur didn't show his sketches to anyone very often, not even Dutch or Hosea anymore. Something about Mary, though, made Arthur comfortable with exposing his soul, or at least that part of it. 

Mary picked the journal up carefully and opened the cover even more so, delicate fingers flipping slowly through pages as her eyes transfixed on graphite Arthur had put in there meticulously to make faces, buildings, animals, plants. Thankfully, she didn't seem to be reading any of his written entries. 

"These are beautiful." She said almost breathily. "You have such a unique and proseful way of capturing the world- I've never seen anything like these."

"Ah, they ain't that good." Arthur denied as his face grew warm. He'd never been very good at receiving compliments. "They're just dumb little doodles."

"Well, I don't think they're dumb," Mary said, still flipping through with a reverent look in her eyes. "I think they're wonderful, and that you're very talented."

"Well, thank you, Miss Gillis," Arthur replied, even if he couldn't see it himself. 

Somehow, the topic of family was brought up. "I live with my mother, father, and my little brother, Jamie." She said. "What about you? What's your family like?"

"Ahm, that's complicated," Arthur answered. "My  _ actual _ family, one I was born into, is dead."

"Oh, my." She said. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

"No, it's okay," Arthur said. "It's been a long time, anyway. My momma got real sick when I was little. She died when I was… Six, seven? Somewhere 'round there. Never had any siblings, and my pa got shot right in front of me when I was fourteen, going on fifteen."

"That couldn't have been easy for you," Mary said with no small amount of sympathy in her voice. 

"No, not really," Arthur confirmed honestly. Normally, the few times he'd found himself telling this story, he'd written it off.  _ No, I'm okay, it wasn't that bad, I was fine, I  _ ** _am_ ** _ fine _ , he'd say. But Mary hadn't judged him so far, nor seemed to be looking at his weaknesses as opportunities, so he told her the truth. "I was on my own for about a month after my father died, just barely scraping by. A pair of men took me in, taught me to read, and write, how to protect myself and survive in the wild. The older man, he has a wife. She's the closest I've had to a mother the last six or so years, him, the closest to a father. I guess the younger man is kinda also a father? I dunno, he's family, regardless."

"They sound like wonderful people," Mary said. 

"They are, yeah," Arthur replied, his thoughts drifting to the many things he was fond of about Dutch and Hosea. He didn't dwell on them for too long. "I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for them. They saved my life, have done many times since."

"I'm glad they did, otherwise I'd be drinking my coffee without your wonderful company," Mary replied with a small smile as she lifted her cup to her lips and drank the last of her bean juice. Arthur felt his face turn red for the umpteenth time since  _ literally _ bumping into her. 

When they were both finished with their coffee, Arthur paid. Mary insisted that she could foot the bill, and maybe Arthur should have let her since he was running low on funds, especially now that he wasn't doing any robbing like he'd planned on today. And anyway, she was rich, weren't like paying for two coffees was gonna make her destitute. 

Arthur figured it didn't much matter. He could get more money tomorrow, or the next day, or sometime soon enough. He still had enough for a few meals and to keep paying for his hotel room for a little while, so it'd be fine. 

They walked through the city together with no real destination after that, talking up a storm. Arthur decided to tell her an embarrassing story about himself, more and more comfortable in her presence as time went on. "So, my family, they sent me out fishin' a few months ago for dinner that night. I ain't exactly the best fisherman, so after an hour of tryin' and failin' to hook anything, I went to the market and bought some fish, instead." He didn't include the part of the story where he spent the day robbing for the money to buy them. "Came back with three big bass. They thought I'd caught them m'self, toasted me all night long, commended me on improvin' my fishing skills. Week or so passed, and I was walkin' through town with the younger man when the butcher called out, 'so, how'd you enjoy those bass?'. They still ain't let me live it down."

Mary laughed heartily at that, giggles bubbling from her and gracing Arthur's ears. He'd do  _ anything _ to keep hearing that sound. The world seemed a little less cold and confusing when she laughed. 

And damn, was it cold. That was another thing Arthur hated about Chicago. The temperature itself wasn't much different from Maryland, West Virginia, Kentucky, or Indiana, but Chicago was called the windy city for a reason, he supposed. The wind nipped at his face and the exposed skin where there was a small hole in his glove from an accident with a cigarette. Mary didn't seem too bothered, but then, Arthur figured she'd probably grown up here and would have seen her fair share of Chicago winters. 

They talked about so many things, for hours. Arthur listened to her like she was the only thing he could hear, and she did the same for him. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and he hoped the feeling was mutual. If the way she was looking at him said anything, it probably was. She made his heart skip in his chest, and his head swim with fuzzy, happy, silly emotions. 

Eventually, it was beginning to get dark. Arthur offered to walk her home and did just that. When they got to her place, a luxurious two-story manor, they stopped. "I had fun with you today, Mr. Morgan." She said, her smile lighting up the dark of the winter evening. 

"Please, call me Arthur." Arthur said, though he supposed he'd been addressing her as 'Miss Gillis' all day long, as well. After all the things they'd talked to each other about the last few hours, however, Arthur figured they were past surnames. 

"I'd love to see you again, Arthur." She said, and his name sounded sweet as honey coming from her, making him reel more in that wonderful way he'd been all day. 

"And I, you," Arthur replied. 

"Meet me at the coffeehouse on Friday? Around noon?" She asked. Arthur nodded enthusiastically. 

"Yeah, I'd like that." He said. She smiled up at him and he smiled back, staring into her warm, brown eyes. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before closing the gap between them, standing on the tip of her toes with her hands against his chest as she kissed him on the cheek. His heart did somersaults, and his brain did flips. 

"Goodnight, Arthur," Mary said. 

"Goodnight, Mary," Arthur said, still grinning like a fool as he tried to keep the nervousness out of his tone. It didn't work very well. She backed up from him and he tipped his hat to her before she turned, walking into the house. 

It was nearly a mile's walk back to the hotel, and Arthur walked slowly in a happy daze. He had nothing to show for today, which would surely annoy Dutch, but he was feeling too many good things to give a shit. As soon as he got into the hotel and shrugged his winter clothes off, Arthur walked into the back room of the hotel that their group had rented from the hotel owner to use as a meeting place. Surely enough, everyone was there, sitting around the same table they'd been playing poker at when Arthur left earlier that afternoon. 

They all immediately stared at him like he had two heads, and Arthur's joy was replaced with confusion. 

"What?" He asked. 

"Looks like someone had fun today." Uncle quipped. Arthur was still thoroughly perplexed. 

"What makes you say that?" He asked as nonchalantly as possible. 

"Well, aside from the goofy grin on your face." Hosea started, wearing a smug smile as he tapped his face. "You got lipstick on your cheek, son."

Arthur almost wished he could have seen his own face because Susan and Bessie giggled at the sight of him blushing for probably the thousandth time that day. 

"Congrats on getting laid, son, you're a man now!" Uncle laughed, raising his beer for a toast before knocking it back. 

"I didn't 'get laid'!" Arthur hissed, feeling his face turn even redder, though he weren't sure how that would even be possible anymore. "Met a girl, went with her for some coffee. We talked for a few hours, I walked her home, and she gave me a peck on the cheek- that's all." He defended himself. 

"What's her name?" Dutch asked with a proud smile, as though he didn't believe Arthur's statement. He didn't care enough to try reiterating the point, they could all believe whatever they wanted,  _ he _ knew what'd really happened. 

"Mary," Arthur answered, and he couldn't stop himself from saying her name like it were a sweet taste in his mouth, the way she had his earlier. "Mary Gillis."

"Mary Gillis and Arthur Morgan." Hosea mulled the sound of it over. "Sounds like a match to me. You plan on seein' her again?"

Arthur nodded. "This Friday, at the coffeehouse."

"Our boy is a man, now, Hosea!" Dutch chuckled giddily as he wrapped an arm around Hosea. They had this conversation at least twenty times in the past three years. 

"Soon, he'll be spreading his wings and leaving the nest," Hosea said. Everyone laughed at Arthur's expense. 

"Y'all are assholes sometimes, I swear," Arthur muttered. 

"Oh, lighten up, we're just teasing, son." Hosea chuckled. 

"Can't believe little Artie has a crush." Bessie chipped in as she snickered. 

"Damn it, not you, too, Bessie!"

"You plan on washin' that makeup off, or are you thinkin' 'bout tryin' some for yourself?" Uncle joked. Arthur groaned in frustration.  _ Why do I put up with this shit?  _

"Pink ain't your color, son," Dutch added. Arthur threw his hands up and stormed out of the room, hearing muffled laughter as he closed the door roughly behind him. 

~~~~~~~~

After a few days of merciless teasing, the group eventually settled down and left Arthur be. The only person who brought Mary back up after that was Hosea, in privacy so they could talk maturely about it. "So, what's Mary like?"

"She's… Wonderful." Arthur replied as he worked steadily on a sketch of her in his journal. "Smart, and kind, and- gosh, Hosea, she's  _ beautiful _ . Prettiest girl I ever seen." He gushed. "I… Haven't felt this way about anyone else ever in my whole life."

"Does she know…?" Hosea didn't finish his question. Didn't have to. Arthur shook his head. 

"No. Least, I don't think so. I told her I do odd jobs. She didn't ask any further."

"If you're serious about this young lady, you're gonna have to tell her at some point. If she likes you half as much as you do her, she hopefully won't mind. But you can't just keep lying to her."

"I know." Arthur sighed. "I coulda told her, maybe, told her a lotta other stuff I wouldn't tell most, but we was in public, and I didn't wanna draw attention to myself."

"Smart," Hosea replied simply. "That her you're drawing?" Arthur nodded. Again, he didn't show them his drawings very often anymore, but he did so now, turning the mostly finished sketch so Hosea could see. "She is rather pretty." Hosea then said. "I obviously ain't gonna try and steal her from ya, but maybe you should keep her away from Uncle." He joked. 

"I don't think I did her likeness justice," Arthur muttered as he turned his journal back to face him, critically eyeing his sketch. "She's a lot prettier in person."

"Are you… You know, in love with her?"

"I… Wouldn't say that just yet," Arthur answered. "We only talked for a few hours. But… I'm… Rather fond of her, so far, and I think she is of me, too."

"Well, I hope so, too," Hosea replied. "You ain't really had the chance to make connections outside of our circle. She could be real good for you if it's meant to be. I noticed you seem real lonely, past few years. There's things the rest of us can't do for you, and I hope this Mary Gillis of yours fills that spot."

"Thank you, Hosea. That means a lot." Arthur said, smiling. Hosea gave his own smile, reaching across the table to put a hand on Arthur's, giving it a few reassuring pats. 

"You deserve to be happy, son. I sure hope this young lady helps with that."

"I hope so, too," Arthur said with a sigh. Because Hosea was right. Arthur was rather lonely, and of course, the older outlaw noticed. For a while now, he thought he'd been lacking a pal like Hosea and Dutch had each other, but now he was thinking maybe it was something more that he needed. Even just the few hours spent with Mary was the happiest he could recall being in a long, long time; since his mother died, maybe even. She'd made Arthur feel like he could have touched the sky. 

Sure, he wasn't constantly miserable, as such, but he wasn't really happy, either. Maybe love of a different sort would fill that hole in his heart. 

_ If _ he ended up loving her, he reminded himself.  _ Slow down there, cowboy. You talked to her a few hours, now you're thinkin' she's gonna magically heal you. _ They weren't leaving Chicago any time soon, he'd have plenty of time to get to know her better, to either fall for her, or cut her loose. If nothing else, maybe they'd become friends. It was much too early to say one way or the other. 

Hosea soon announced he was headed to bed, and they said their goodnights before the older man left the room. Arthur could hear the creaking of the hotel steps as the man made his way upstairs. 

Arthur could hardly sleep the past few nights, waiting impatiently for Friday to be here so he could see Mary again. Eventually, though, as he lay in his bed that night, slumber found him, and he dreamed silly, happy dreams of having a future with Mary Gillis.


	21. If I Told You What I Was, Would You Turn Your Back On Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I stayed up all night writing this. Two chapters in twelve hours. Ain't that great? 
> 
> Chapter title is from 'Monster' by Imagine Dragons
> 
> Please enjoy <3

It was January, and yet, Arthur was sweating buckets. 

It was Thursday afternoon, meaning less than twenty-four hours remained until he could see Mary again. It was then that Arthur remembered he had no idea what the Hell he was doing when it came to trying to court someone. Probably would have been a good thing to recall that little fact sooner. 

He brought the issue up to Hosea and Dutch. "Yeah, you never have been very good with words," Dutch said, as though Arthur didn't know that already. 

"I'm gonna make a bigger fool of myself than I'm sure I already have." Arthur griped. 

"It really ain't that difficult," Hosea said, newspaper in hand that he'd abandoned reading once Arthur had asked them for help. "Just treat her nicely. You obviously already know how to do that, if she even bothered to ask to see you again."

"You may wanna try looking nice, too," Dutch added. 

"Hell's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grumbled. 

"I mean, it wouldn't kill ya to clean up a little. When's the last time you shaved that patchy scruff of yours?"

"It ain't that patchy," Arthur argued. 

"Arthur, I ain't even so sure that could  _ qualify _ as a beard."

"Leave me alone, it's still growing in." The youngest outlaw all but whined. The teasing only got worse the more time that went on, and though he knew they had the best intentions, it still grated his nerves a little, sometimes. Besides, the hair drew attention away from those ugly scars on his chin that he hated so much. 

"Could do with a better outfit, too," Dutch said, picking on Arthur's wardrobe next. "Something more along the lines of average city boy, than country outlaw."

"He shouldn't have to change himself for her." Hosea chimed in. 

"Thank you, Hosea."

"If the girl likes him, then she likes him for who he is, not how he looks." The older man continued. 

"I'm just sayin', appearance can make a big difference, 'specially if you bumble with your words the way he does." Dutch defended his point. 

"I can understand that, and sure, he  _ should _ try to look his best for her; but you're practically asking him to disguise himself, and the boy already needs to come clean to her at some point. Not to mention, you're probably dampening his already low ego."

"Whatever, I don't know, then," Dutch replied. "Shit, what room do I have to talk about relationships, much less give advice for 'em? I still ain't had one that lasted very long."

"Now you're  _ both _ being too hard on yourselves," Hosea said with a sigh. 

"Least you've even  _ had _ a relationship or two," Arthur said to Dutch. "I'm walkin' in the dark here. You shoulda seen me with her, stumblin' all over my words like some tongue-tied, blustering fool."

"I would've paid to see that." Hosea quipped with a smirk. "I imagine it was rather entertaining for anyone who witnessed it."

"Too bad we can't sell tickets, we'd make a fortune," Dutch added. Arthur rolled his eyes so hard he was sure they'd stay stuck in the back of his skull. 

"You two are  _ real _ helpful. Thanks for all your words of sage advice."

"You cannot seem to take a joke, lately," Dutch replied, shaking his head as he tutted. 

" _ So sorry _ that I don't find y'all makin' fun of me as hilarious as yous do."

"You make fun of us plenty, too," Hosea said.

"... Fair enough." Arthur replied, not being able to argue that. 

"... You need a haircut, too." Dutch said after a moment. Arthur scowled. 

"Can't keep the hair on my face, can't keep the hair on my head- am I allowed to keep my pubes?" He joked. 

"I would certainly hope you don't plan on showin' those to her on the second date," Hosea said. 

"What's wrong with my hair?" 

"Well, currently, aside from being greasy cuz you ain't taken a bath since Lord knows when, it's too long," Dutch answered. 

"Says who?" 

"It makes you look ungroomed, son. Like you just stumbled outta the woods with no idea what scissors are."

"Your hair is gettin' pretty long, too."

"I ain't tryna impress anyone, am I?"

Arthur sighed again. This was a lot more complicated than he'd originally thought, and it'd already seemed damn near impossible. "Fine. I'll get a shave, my hair cut, a bath, and some new threads. Still ain't gonna help my case much because I can't talk right 'round her, but maybe it'll be easier to look past if I look like some rich city boy."

"You're still so worried about that, maybe ask Miss Grimshaw or Mrs. Matthews. They'd know a Hell of a lot more what women want to hear than we would." Dutch suggested. 

Arthur did ask Bessie and Susan, and their advice weren't very helpful, either, but at least they didn't laugh at Arthur's expense or tell him he looked like an ugly, dirty cowboy. Though, he guessed it was the truth, harshly as Dutch had put it. 

He had done some light pick-pocketing over the last few days with nothing much better to do, had found an antique shop whose owner was crooked. It was there that he sold off all the items that he'd stolen from poor bastards at the saloon. He probably had enough to get cleaned up. 

So, that's what he did. Arthur went and got a bath, thankfully the hotel they were staying in had a tub. Then he left and went to get a haircut, shave, and new clothes.

He'd always preferred his hair a bit longer, and had spent the last year or so purposely growing it out, so as Arthur watched strands of dirty blond hair fall to the barbershop floor, he felt a bit sad. 

He was also pissed off that he had to keep regrowing his beard. Every now and then, he'd have to shave it off to fit a role Hosea and Dutch needed him to play, pushing him back further from his goal of ever properly growing any hair on his face. So, it annoyed him further to now have to shave it off to suit his own agenda. Maybe he'd be able to fully enjoy that right of passage into manhood at some point. 

Best not to dwell on it, it was too late, now. With the patchy stubble and a good deal of his hair gone, Arthur paid the barber, thanked him, and left. 

Finding clothes was more difficult because Arthur still had no idea what his taste in fashion really was. He supposed it didn't much matter; most of his other clothes were stained with blood (either his or someone else's, usually the latter) and dirt. As long as it was clean and new, Mary probably wouldn't pay much mind to what Arthur was wearing. So, he got a blue striped button-down shirt, a black necktie, a new pair of suspenders, and some simple black slacks. He decided against buying new boots, as they were expected to be dirty, and the shop he'd gone to was pretty expensive. The ones he was currently wearing were only a few months old, anyway. 

He was looking at the hats, too, debating if he should get one to finally replace his damn father's after years of trying to get rid of it, to no avail. Needless to say, he was sticking with it, much as he didn't want to. Ones in the shop didn't look any better. 

When he got back to the hotel, he fed Copper, who seemed to be getting annoyed with being stuck in the hotel all the time. Usually, they'd spend the winters in an abandoned house, which granted Copper plenty of freedom to come and go as he pleased. Obviously, the dog couldn't really do that in the city; dumb mutt would probably run into the middle of the street and get trampled to death by a wagon or rider. Despite being about a third of the way through his lifespan, maybe a bit more, Copper was still as tragically dull as he'd been when Arthur found him. 

"I know, boy, I miss the outside, too," Arthur said as Copper whined, scratching the dog behind the ear. "I almost miss the dirt. Damn city's too clean and gray…"

Clearly, Copper had no response, because he was a dog, and animals can't talk. He did have a look in his eyes that almost made Arthur think the canine both understood and agreed with what he was saying, though it was probably all in his mind. 

Hosea must be going stir crazy too, even with Bessie there, Arthur thought. Maybe they should go on a camping trip soon, even though it was cold as shit outside. Or maybe Arthur should just wait for spring a little more patiently so it's actually worth leaving the city to go on a trip that ain't business related. There wouldn't be much plant or animal life out there right now, anyway, and those were the things Arthur missed most. 

Sleeping in a bed in a room with a door was nice, but Arthur missed the routine of keeping up with the camp's needs, too. Tending to the horses, chopping firewood, getting water, being on guard duty, hunting for their dinner. All of it gone, just because they were stuck in goddamn Chicago. 

But, Mary was here, so maybe Arthur could deal with being there for a little while, too. So long as things went well between them. 

Arthur spent the rest of the day pacing nervously. He had no idea what to do with himself with all this free time, other than think up a hundred or more possible ways tomorrow could go wrong. All the things he could say or do to make Mary turn away from him, all the things that were out of his control that could ruin the date. The possibility of telling her the truth about him and her becoming disgusted with him, and maybe even turning him in to the law, if she felt that strongly. 

Even if Mary had no issue with who he was, what would her folks think? Surely, her parents wouldn't want their rich, law-abiding, volunteer working daughter to get involved with a criminal. On top of being a thief, he was a murderer, too, and it'd feel wrong to leave that detail out, like he was still lying to her. Arthur didn't wanna keep lying to Mary, scared as he was about the thousand possible ways she could react to the news.

_ Why am I so worked up over this nonsense? I only met her once, and we talked for a few hours. Ain't like it's been months, or years. I hardly even know her.  _

Regardless, Arthur could not stop thinking about it, nor her, nor their upcoming date. It was hard to fall asleep that night, but he managed, somehow. 

~~~~~~~~

If Arthur had been nervous yesterday, then he had no clue what he was now. 

He was standing in front of a full-length mirror wearing the clothes he'd bought the day before, looking at himself unsurely as a necktie hung loosely around his shoulders. Hosea had shown him once how to do it, but Arthur couldn't for the life of him remember the right way to tie it. 

Thankfully, there was a knock on the door. "Come in." Even more thankfully, it was Hosea, who closed the door behind him and then put a hand on his hip as he smirked smugly. 

"You remember what you're doing there?" The older man asked, raising a brow. 

"No."

Hosea shook his head and chuckled fondly as he crossed the room to him. "Like this." The older man said, taking the tie in his hands and beginning to slowly, step by step, tie it correctly. Arthur watched carefully, intent on being able to do it for himself next time. "You're gonna want to leave enough space for one or two fingers when you finish off the knot, so it doesn't choke you," Hosea instructed as he reached the last step, sliding the tie tight with two fingers in between for the reasoning he already explained. Then, he stepped back, and Arthur looked at Hosea's work in the mirror. "There ya go, now you look like a handsome lad."

"Thank you, Hosea," Arthur said. 

"You're welcome, son," Hosea replied. "How you feelin' 'bout this?"

"Nervous," Arthur muttered as he picked up a comb and began running it through his hair. What was left of it, anyway. Would probably take close to another damn year to get it back to where he'd had it. 

"You'll be fine, I'm sure," Hosea said confidently. Arthur wished he had that much faith in himself. "And, if it turns sour… Well, you'll be okay. There's plenty more girls in the world, you'll find the right one, eventually."

The other man's words did little to set Arthur at ease, but he appreciated his effort, anyway. "I know." He sighed. "I just… Really like this one, ya know?"

"Oh, believe me, I've been there," Hosea said. "Decades ago, now, but I've been there. Just treat her nicely, make sure to show interest in her, and break the news to her lightly. If she doesn't like you anymore after that, then it'll be unfortunate, but it just means you ain't found the right girl. Like I said, you will, eventually. Just be patient."

"Okay," Arthur replied simply. 

He turned his head to see a proud smile on Hosea's face, and it made Arthur feel a bit better. If nothing else, at least Hosea would be proud of him, no matter how the rest of the day turned out. "I'm sure it'll be just fine. Women appreciate a man with a deep soul, and you definitely aren't lacking in that department."

"Tch, now you're just pushing it," Arthur said with a smile. "You and that silver tongue of yours. Always one for theatrics."

"I was an actor, remember?" Hosea asked. 

"Yeah. Fair point."

Hosea gave Arthur a few unrelenting light slaps to the shoulder. "Stop beatin' the devil 'round the stump, preening yourself like some kinda peacock, and go get that girl, son."

"Alright, alright, Jesus," Arthur said, swatting Hosea's playful slaps away. Then he sighed, picked his hat up and put it on. "Wish me luck."

"Of course, I'm rooting for you, always." And then, impulsively, Arthur decided to give the older man a quick hug, which Hosea gladly reciprocated. "Good luck, Arthur."

Arthur pulled away and got his winter clothes, saying goodbye to Hosea and everyone else before leaving the hotel, mounting Bo, then heading towards the coffeehouse. 

~~~~~~~~~

Arthur checked his pocket watch for what felt like the fiftieth time. 12:10 PM. Still no sign of Mary. 

Had she stood him up? Walked into her home that night they met and decided he wasn't worth the hassle? He wouldn't blame her if she did. He wasn't worth the trouble, wasn't even as good as the ground she walked on. If there'd even been a possibility of her being okay with what he was, dragging her along with them would just put her in danger. Long distance never would have worked, either. Arthur didn't think himself as strong or patient a man as Hosea, who could go weeks or months without his darling Bessie; miserable as he was about it, he still pulled through every time and was a better man than last he was whenever she showed up again. 

It was probably for the best. Arthur never deserved Mary, anyways. Not as a friend, not as a lover. Hell, not even as an enemy. She was too good for him, and that was just it, far as he was concerned. All he would have done is break her heart, eventually, whether with an untimely death, or his egregious actions, it never would have ended well. 

What even made him think he had a chance in the first place? That it was ever meant to be? Arthur and Mary were from two completely different worlds. Arthur would never know what it was like to be rich, living in the gilded cage of society, and she would never know what it was like to be hunted. He had to sometimes kill in their quest to help people, and she was completely innocent, providing aid without destroying like Dutch had often claimed was the only thing the wealthy knew how to do. 

It never would have worked out. Arthur didn't even have the first clue how to make a relationship work. He shouldn't have even bothered, probably just wasted both of their time. She probably only gave him that peck on the cheek to fool him into thinking she ever cared. She probably thought he was a dumb, ugly, smelly brute. Probably hated his drawings. Didn't care about any of the things he told her. Forced her beautiful smiles and giggles. He was a fool to have thought otherwise. She probably only invited him with her for coffee so she'd have something to laugh about later. 

_ Look at this fool, thinking he has a chance _ , she probably thought as they sat there talking.  _ His drawings suck, and he smells like he ain't never known the embrace of a bar of soap in his life. I know, I'll invite him out again, so I can stand him up, and then laugh while I sit at home and he stands there waiting for me, and I'll never come.  _

12:15. Still no Mary. 

Why was he even still waiting? It was clear that she wasn't coming, was probably sitting at home, enjoying the warmth of a fireplace, while he stood outside the coffeehouse in the cold. Arthur supposed he didn't have anything better to do, and he certainly wasn't ready to go back to the hotel and let everyone know that the girl had toyed with him. 

What if Hosea was wrong, and Arthur never found the right girl? What if he spent the rest of his life desperately chasing after things he couldn't have? What made him think he was even worthy of love, to begin with? He would have just burdened her, or any other woman, with his issues. His stupidity, morality (or lack thereof), anger, way of life, and emotional baggage would have just slowed her down, made her as miserable as it did him. She deserved a good life. Arthur already knew he wasn't gonna have one, had come to terms with it years ago, now. She shouldn't be any part of it, for her own sake. 

"Arthur!"

Arthur's gaze had been fixed on the ground, but hearing the familiar voice, and his name, his head snapped up. There she was, across the street; damn near twenty minutes late, but she was there, she hadn't stood him up. Mary waited for a lull in the traffic of horses and wagons before gathering her skirts, quickly making her way across the cobblestone streets to him. 

"You came." He said, surprised. 

"I'm sorry I'm so late." She replied. "I… Had to help my brother with something." 

He wasn't suspicious of her excuse, per-se, but he was perplexed by it. Had her brother been in danger? "It's alright." 

"Thank you for waiting." She said. "Shall we?" 

Arthur nodded, walking over to the entrance of the coffeehouse and held the door open for her. She smiled at him, thanked him, and Arthur felt all the bad thoughts he'd been thinking disappear into the background. 

~~~~~~~~~~

After coffee, they went for a ride.

"I don't get to leave Chicago very often." She said after Arthur had complained for a moment about how much he hated the city. "I can see why you'd be fed up with it. The people here are downright rude sometimes, and it's too stuffy."

Arthur wished it were spring so the ride could have been nicer, but he wasn't complaining too much. There was a dirt trail under Bo's hooves instead of cobblestone streets, the skyline of the city a mile or so behind. No one out here to disturb them, no expectations, or walls.

_ No law to rat me out to if she doesn't like who I am _ , Arthur hated himself for thinking but did regardless. He'd have to worry about that once they got back into Chicago if she ended up having a problem with what he was, cuz it wasn't like he'd ever be able to… Force her into silence, for lack of a gentler way of putting it. Even the thought of not being able to do that sat horribly with him. Not that he couldn't do it, but that the thought of such a thing ever popped into his head in the first place. What a horrible wretch he must be, where even when he was thinking how he wouldn't kill her, he had still thought about it for a split second, even if it was just the prefix to the thought of how he wouldn't. 

They stopped by a pond, though it was frozen over. There thankfully hadn't been any snow recently, so the logs and rocks were all clear and dry to sit on. So, they did just that, right next to each other, of course. 

"It's so much quieter out here," Mary said almost at a whisper. She took a deep breath in and out, relaxed. 

"Air's cleaner, too," Arthur said. "I dunno 'bout you, but I always feel like my lungs are clogged up, with all that smog."

"It was a wonderful idea to come out here." She said, looking around in awe. "I'm sure it'd be a lot nicer if it was warm but if nothing else, at least we can be alone."

_ Stop being a goddamn fool and tell her already. _

"Yeah." He agreed simply. She seemed to have noticed he was struggling with an inner conflict. 

"... Is everything alright? Do you… Not wanna be alone with me?"

"No, no, it ain't that." Arthur denied quickly. "I'm having a great time with you, honest. I guess I'm just… nervous."

Nervous didn't really begin to explain it, but as it'd already been established, he'd never been good with words. 

"What about? I ain't gonna bite." She said with a smile. 

"I… I have to tell you something." Arthur finally said after a few long moments of nothing but silence stretching between them, save for the sound of Boadicea nickering nearby. Not for the first time, Arthur wished he was a horse, so he didn't have to deal with human problems. 

"What is it?" She asked cautiously. 

Hesitantly, Arthur took Mary's hands in his. She didn't pull away, stared him straight in the eye, worried. "This ain't gonna be easy to hear, I know it ain't. And you might hate me after I say it, but I don't wanna keep hiding this from you, because you're wonderful, and you make me feel wonderful. But the thing I have to tell you ain't so nice…"

"... Is there another woman?" Mary asked after another moment. 

"No, that ain't it either," Arthur replied, wishing he could just get the damn words out. He should have asked Hosea how he broke the news to Bessie, or Dutch, to Susan. This wasn't easy by any means. "I… I'm not a good man, Mary." He finally said. She looked confused. "Them men that saved me, that I told you about? They're outlaws.  _ I'm _ an outlaw. We take from people who have a lot and won't share, and we give it to people who need it. That don't entirely justify it, I know, but…"

She seemed to process that information for a moment before she pulled her hands away from his. Arthur felt the world slow to a halt. "... So, what, should I be expectin' a visit from you and your buddies in the middle of the night…?" She asked, sounding a bit scared. 

"No," Arthur said for what felt like the hundredth time. "No, nothing like that- I'd still feel the same way about you if you was poor instead of rich. And even if you hate me now, I ain't gonna rob you, or bring you and yours any harm, neither's the rest of my family. I just… I don't want you to keep wastin' your time with me if you could be happier in someone else's company; someone  _ better's _ company. I don't wanna keep leading you on, thinkin' I was some normal city boy when that couldn't be further from the truth. You deserve to know because you deserve  _ better _ ."

He poured his soul out to her, trying to put as much sincerity as he felt into his voice. The words maybe weren't all quite right, but tone of voice could be a Hell of a lot more powerful, done correctly. 

More silence, almost deafening. Even Boadicea was silent, and Arthur cursed her for it in his head, because the quiet was horrible. Mary stared at the ground for a long while and said nothing, and Arthur was about to offer to take her home, to tell her that she could just forget he ever existed, that he'd ever even begun to drag her into the mess that was him. She'd be better off that way. 

"...Have you killed...?" She then asked. 

"... Yes." He answered honestly. "Only ever in self-defense, but yes. I have."

"But you and your family, you steal because you wanna help people? Not for your own greed?"

"Yes." He answered honestly again. "My mentor, the younger man, told me that all the wealthy are greedy and that they're destroying the world with their corruption. I don't believe that anymore, not after meeting you. But there's still a lotta rich folk out there who  _ are _ like that, and the thought of people suffering who could really use that money- it  _ tears _ at me, Mary. Keeps me awake a lot of nights, keeps me from eating most days. I think about all the people we could help with that money, and it shames me horribly and makes me feel sick, but I don't see any other way to get back those riches and use it for good, instead of personal comfort."

"I… Suppose I can understand." She said. "I think about this a lot, too, when I'm doing volunteer work. All those people I seen, nothing more than skin and bones, their clothes in rags, all while I'm wearing expensive dresses and have three meals a day…"

"It's horrible," Arthur said. "I hate to see people suffer, 'specially those who don't have a chance to crawl outta the hole society dug them into. I was there myself, just after my pa died- remember I told you I was on my own?"

"Yes."

"I had just about nothing." Arthur continued. "No food, no home, no one to depend on, no way to defend myself. I was scared, and I was alone, and I was  _ suffering _ . I'd beg for help in the nearby town, and everyone either ignored me or looked at me like I was shit on their shoe. I slept in a dilapidated tent in the middle of the woods, couldn't start a fire to keep myself warm cuz I'd never been taught. Couldn't hunt for food, hadn't been taught that, either. I got attacked by a goddamn  _ coyote _ of all things, and all I had to protect myself was some dull knife I found stashed in a drawer in my home before I left after my father died. Just when I thought I was screwed, it was a pair of wanted men, supposed bad guys, who  _ saved _ me. And I've been trying to do the same for others since."

Mary nodded with a blank look on her face. 

"... If you don't wanna see me anymore, now that's all out in the open, I understand. I don't blame you. I don't like me very much, either. But  _ please _ , Mary, don't turn me and my family in. I think… Or, at least, I  _ hope _ that we're doin' a lot more good than we are bad. You can just pretend you never even met me, go back to your life, find someone better. You're a good person. You deserve better than me."

"No." She said. "No, Arthur, I… I wanna keep seeing you."

"... You do?"

"I do," Mary replied. "Maybe I can't fully understand the situation, and maybe I'm a bit freaked out by it all, but… You're a good person, too, trying your hardest to  _ do _ good, even if you have to be bad to do it. The world ain't so black and white… I just…" She sighed. "I need some time to come to terms with it, I suppose. But I don't wanna just forget that I ever met you, because even if you're a thief, and a killer, and a wanted man, you're still one of the best people I've met, despite your… Shortcomings, for lack of a nicer word."

"That's… Really kind of you. I don't feel as good about myself as you seem to feel about me, but… Thank you. For understanding, or trying to, anyway."

Despite the heavy tone, she smiled at him a little, and he smiled back at her. Mary's eyes shied away for a moment, but then she cupped his face in her hands, tilting his head before planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Could you take me home now, please?" She asked after a moment. "Like I said, I need some time to… Process all this."

"Of course," Arthur said. They walked over to Bo and Arthur helped Mary onto her back before mounting up himself, and starting the ride back to Chicago. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to Chicago was a quiet one. 

Well, at least until they got into the city limits and the bustle of people was everywhere. But Arthur and Mary stayed silent, not a word spoken between them. 

They reached her home pretty quickly, given they were on horseback and not walking. When they got there, Arthur pulled them to a stop, helped her down from Boadicea after dismounting himself. 

"Your secret is safe with me." She said quietly. 

"Thank you, Mary."

"Meet me at the coffeehouse again next Friday, at noon. I won't be late this time, I hope."

"Okay." 

She hesitated for a moment, seeming like she was going to turn and leave before she threw her arms around him. Startled, Arthur stood there for a moment dumbly before returning the gesture. Her body felt nice pressed against his, her arms a comfort, and her hair smelled like flowers. Arthur closed his eyes as he rested his head on her shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, that you've had it so rough." She said at a whisper, right next to his ear. Her voice was soothing. "I wish things could have been different for you."

"Yeah. Me too." Arthur said though he wasn't sure he fully meant it. If he hadn't been in the situation he had, he could be all alone in the world right now, nowhere near Chicago to have ever met her, nowhere near where Hosea and Dutch found him nearly seven years ago. 

She pulled away a few moments later, leaving another kiss on his cheek that he was sure he'd get made fun of for when he got home. He didn't care. "I'll see you next Friday. Goodbye, Arthur."

"Goodbye, Mary." He replied, and she turned, walked up the path, and into her home. 

~~~~~~~~

Hosea was the only one there when Arthur got back. Dutch had apparently gone to see some fellers, a pair of Irish brothers, he'd met in the local saloon, something about joining forces. Bessie and Susan went shopping, and Uncle was there, but not really, because he was passed out drunk, not likely to wake for hours. 

Arthur was thankful. Hosea was the only person in their circle he could face right now. 

"Looks like you got twice the lip action than you did a few days ago." The older man said as Arthur walked into the back room, shrugging his coat off. "... I'm guessing by your face that was before you told her."

"No," Arthur said. "It went…. Well... It went fine, I guess. Not good, but… Fine."

"How'd she take it?"

"She needs some time. But… She understands, I think. She said she does. I dunno. She told me to meet her at the coffeehouse again next Friday. And she ain't gonna tell the law on us."

"That's… Good." Hosea settled on, not finding another word to use. 

Arthur slumped in one of the chairs across from Hosea with a heavy sigh. "I told her everything. Well, mostly everything. 'Bout how y'all found me, and what we do with what we take. She feels sorry for me."

"You were in a real bad way when we found you." 

"Yeah."

"Well. I hope she comes to an understanding by the time you go to see her again. And I hope it's in our favor; more importantly, yours."

"Yeah…"

Arthur couldn't sleep that night.


	22. The Boy In The California Collar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had to miff the geography a little, but RDR's world already has miffed up geography so it's fine
> 
> In this story, Ohio is right next to Illinois, where Michigan would be. I don't plan on having the VDL fam go through that state, and it's stated that Arthur was never in Ohio either (in the chapter 3 mission 'The Course of True Love II'), so Ohio can be where Michigan normally is. 
> 
> Where's Michigan? Like I said I have no idea but it don't matter cuz they ain't headed that way xD sorry to any readers who possibly live in Michigan
> 
> Also a California collar is a noose, in case anyone couldn't tell. 
> 
> Anyway, with that said, please enjoy the chapter. I think you'll find it quite satisfying... :)

** _May, 1885_ **

Spring could not have come soon enough. 

The world was teeming with life again, and it made leaving Chicago worth it (more so than it already was, given that Arthur hated Chicago and wanted to leave as often as humanly possible). Trees were lush and full with their leaves back, the grass had sprung up, and the waters were no longer frozen over. Rabbit, deer, and wild turkey ran wild over the open plains. 

They were still staying at that hotel, but Arthur had found himself camping out more often than not. Sometimes he was accompanied by Hosea, others he was on his own, never straying too far from the city limits; only enough to where the bustle of Chicago was far in the distance, unheard, where he and the animals were undisturbed. It was easier to sleep with the steady rhythm of crickets, owls, and distant wolves howling, all of those sounds mixing into a lullaby with the crackling of Arthur's campfire. 

Unfortunately, he was not camping right now. He, Hosea, and Dutch were out on a job. 

Well, they  _ had _ been out on a job. The Irish fellers Dutch had met, Colm and Patrick O'Driscoll, had given them a tip-off. The score was good, and there weren't any casualties on either side. The family hadn't even been home when they robbed them. It was late in the evening now, and they used their lanterns to light the way. 

"You know, this is close to where Dutch and I met. Pretty sure this is even the same road." Hosea said at some point. 

"It is," Dutch confirmed. "It was probably closer to another mile or so out, but it's definitely the same trail."

"Been near a decade, and here we are again."

"The poetry of it all." The slightly younger outlaw said in way of agreeing. "Can't believe I  _ actually _ fell for that yarn you spun me-  _ help you get back home to Paris, France. _ What was I, drunk?"

"If I recall correctly, yes," Hosea answered. 

"You fellers really are somethin' else," Arthur commented, not for the first, nor certainly the last time. 

"Believe me, we know," Dutch replied with a chuckle. 

"Remember when you met Bessie?" Hosea asked Dutch, continuing their nostalgic conversation. Arthur kept listening contently, stroking Boadicea's neck soothingly, despite her not being aggravated. 

"Of course I remember, she damn near tried to kill me!" Dutch said. "Saw me with you, and assumed we wasn't friendly with each other, and that I'd taken you hostage or something, I suppose; took your shotgun and whacked me with it good cuz there weren't any bullets in it,  _ thank God _ ."

" _ Bessie? _ " Arthur asked in shock, wondering if they was really talking about the same woman who'd only picked a gun up proper about seven years ago. 

"Yeah! She tried pullin' the trigger and everything, that's how I know the chamber was empty."

"In her defense, she was really paranoid back then that something was gonna happen to me," Hosea said. 

"I've long forgiven her for it by now for that very reason, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't damn near shit myself right there on the spot!"

The pair of them laughed some more. 

"Shortly after that, there was that drama in Kettering," Hosea said as residual chuckles bubbled from him. 

"Is Kettering in Illinois?" Arthur asked. 

"No, Ohio, technically," Hosea answered. "It's real close, though. Probably only a few hour ride from here, right on the border between the two states."

"What even happened there?"

"We was posin' as international merchants, selling shares in a Portuguese shipping company." 

"A  _ fake _ Portuguese shipping company." Hosea clarified, as though Arthur wouldn't have already figured that out. 

"Either way, we did it for weeks, tricked damn near half the town into thinkin' we was big bugs, got them to 'invest' about three hundred dollars in our shipping company."

"Then we got arrested," Hosea said. 

"Y'all got arrested?"

"Yeah, and we did a couple more times, too, right before we picked you up. Managed to escape every time, but Kettering-" Dutch burst out laughing in the middle of his sentence, and Hosea followed suit. 

"The Hell did you fellers do that was so funny?" 

"We- we-" Hosea, normally so composed, could not keep his shit together. Neither could Dutch, but he was less prone to do so. Arthur waited patiently. "We waited til the Sheriff was asleep, took the keys off him, and-"

Hosea still could not stop laughing. Dutch only got himself together long enough to tell the rest. "Took the keys, broke loose, then bound the Sheriff up naked in the cell!"

Arthur felt his face pull in a weird mix of disgust, amusement, and confusion as Dutch and Hosea continued to snicker and snort and chuckle, complaining that they couldn't breathe between giddy giggles. "What the Hell? Why naked?"

"Well, we was drunk, and wearin' real fancy suits when they brought us in." Hosea started explaining as his giggling began to simmer down, though still not quite. "Bastard said he was gonna steal 'em after we was hanged, and I guess we didn't particularly like the idea of some feller strippin' our dead bodies, so we did it to his unconscious one, instead!"

Okay, Arthur joined in on the laughter a little, though Dutch and Hosea still laughed harder, having been the ones it actually happened to. Arthur forgot every now and then they'd been together about two years before he was in the picture. 

"Ah, what a pair of fools we are," Dutch said as they calmed down. "Whattaya both say we ride that other mile or two and see if we can find the patch of grass by the side of this road we met on?"

"I'd love to see where y'all met." Arthur chimed in. 

"Sure, why not? We're already out here, let's do it!" Hosea agreed enthusiastically. 

It only took a few minutes to get there, Hosea and Dutch seeming to stop The Duke and Onyx in their tracks simultaneously, as though some remnant from ten years ago called them to that area. "It was right here," Hosea said. 

"Yeah, it was. Look, log we were sat on is still there and everything." Dutch added, pointing to a log on the ground.

Arthur had obviously never been there before, but he, too, was called to this area, like he could  _ feel _ the meeting of his mentors from about ten years ago just by looking at the patch of grass and fallen tree by the side of the trail. Almost felt like he was on holy ground if he were being honest. 

They dismounted and decided to take a break there for a little while, as Dutch and Hosea continued to reminisce, telling wonderful tales of near deaths, escapes, and hilarious failures. 

And then, Hosea stopped mid-sentence at some point, and the three of them fell silent. 

"What is it?" Arthur asked. 

"Didn't you two hear that?" Hosea muttered. 

"I heard something, alright," Dutch said quietly. They waited, and listened. 

_ "Heeeeelp…!" _

It was distant, but distinguishable as they all kept their traps shut, eyes flicking back and forth between each other. Dutch was already jumping on his horse before Arthur and Hosea could tell him to wait up for them, taking off through the trees towards the sound. "Come on, Arthur, let's get going!" Hosea said, and they scrambled to mount their own steeds, following the sound, as well. 

_ "Help, please, help me…!" _

Sounded like a child, Arthur could tell as they got closer, which pushed the trio to ride faster. The horses struggled over the uneven terrain in the dark, but they rode hard. 

Funny how one night could change all their lives forever, Arthur muses, looking back. 

"Please, God, help me!" The child continued to yell. Angry voices came within earshot. 

"God don't like thieves, boy! You're gonna hang for what you did, and you're goin' south, soon as you do!"

"Fuck you, mister!" The boy screamed. 

"The Lord don't like that type of language, neither!" One of the angry people spat back. 

Hosea, Dutch, and Arthur soon rode out of the trees and into someone's backyard. Lanterns dully lit the scene before them. Angry homesteaders, one of them standing by the boy who was stood on a stool with his hands tied behind his back, a noose around his neck that was tied to a sycamore tree. 

"Any last words, swindler?"

"Gentlemen!"

The angry mob turned towards Dutch, who dismounted The Duke, followed shortly after by Hosea and Arthur. 

"This ain't none of your business, fellers. Best you leave right now." The man beside the boy said. 

"I think you men are making a  _ big _ mistake," Dutch said calmly as the three outlaws kept approaching. They stopped a few yards away. "See, that's a  _ boy _ , mister. A young boy. And I don't think our Lord who art in Heaven would look very kindly upon you killing one of his children, 'specially in such a heinous manner."

"And I don't think you should be here!" The feller yelled back. "Get lost, 'fore we make you join him!"

Arthur looked at the boy, who had tears streaming down his bruised face as he quietly sobbed.  _ We'll get you out of this _ , he thought, wishing he could get the message to the child. His fingers twitched at his sides subtly, ready to draw at any moment. He and Hosea shared a glance. 

_ Don't do anything stupid _ , the older man's eyes said. Arthur gave the slightest nod of his head. 

_ 'Course not _ , he conveyed back, and their gaze darted quickly back to the scene in front of them. 

"What'd he even do to tick you folk off?" Dutch asked, hands raised as though in surrender. 

"He tried to steal our last hen!" One of them answered. "Wolves already took the rest, and the chicks ain't healthy; we'd have starved if he got away with it! And he killed one of our cousins, too!"

"Look at the boy, he's skin and bones!" Dutch replied. "'Course he tried stealin' a chicken, poor kid looks like he ain't had a bite in weeks! Every creature alive on this planet needs to eat. And if he killed one of your cousins, it was cuz he attacked him, first!"

"So, what, we're supposed to starve because this little brat don't know how to keep his hands to himself?"

"You can buy another chicken, a boy is irreplaceable."

"Too bad! The twerp should have thought twice!"

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough," Dutch said, taking a few more steps forward. "Let. The boy.  _ Go _ ." He growled. 

"And what you gonna do if we don't?"

"Something I'm positive Jesus and the Holy Father would forgive me for, in light of the situation."

Arthur knew it was all bullshit spilling from Dutch's mouth. He seemed to believe in some higher power but used God's name very lightly. He didn't seem to quite know exactly what God was- Arthur just thought it was all bullshit. The only thing Dutch wasn't bullshitting was the fact that, if the bastards didn't let the kid go, there'd be Hell to pay. 

As if to test his statement, the man kicked the stool out from under the kid, sending the boy kicking and flailing as he choked. 

There was a hailstorm of bullets immediately, the trio drawing their guns with deadly speed, aiming even faster and pulling the trigger. Dutch's first shot hit the rope, but even the two seconds the boy had been swinging, gasping for air, had burned into Arthur's mind. He'd remember it til the day he died. 

After the feller who hung the child was shot, which was by Hosea's hands, Dutch ran through the raining bullets. "Cover me, I'm goin' for the boy!" He yelled, shooting wildly as he ran towards the kid who lay on the ground, wheezing and coughing. 

Arthur and Hosea laid down cover fire best as they could as they rolled behind some crates for some protection of their own. Arthur shot two homesteaders in the head with just about one move, the thud of their bodies lost in the sound of gunfire. 

Dutch grabbed the boy who clung to him for dear life as the outlaw ran across the backyard turned battlefield once more. "I got him! Keep shootin', I'm gonna get him to safety!"

Hosea and Arthur continued to shoot, ducking as they sensed incoming bullets, peeking back up to shoot some more when the coast was clear, reloading when needed. It took a minute or so for Dutch to return, sans the child, and once he joined back into the fight the rest of it went pretty quickly, gunshots eventually stopping, blood pooling from bodies. The sons of bitches were dead. 

"Goddamn." Arthur cursed as his heartbeat wildly in his chest. 

"Arthur, go check the house," Dutch ordered him. "See if the bastards had anything other than a hen worth taking. Meet Hosea and I by the horses."

"Yessir," Arthur said, holstering his revolvers before entering the now ownerless homestead. 

There wasn't much of anything worth taking. A couple dollars here and there. Every little bit counted, though. He also searched the bodies, making quick work of it all before making his way back to Dutch, Hosea, and the child they'd rescued from a brush with death. 

Arthur felt like he was looking into a mirror of his past self. 

The boy had messy, greasy, dark hair that fell to his shoulders, his unkempt bangs just about covered his equally dark eyes. He was thin as a rail, and his clothes were tattered and dirty. There were bruises on his face and a rope mark around his neck. He shook and quaked in fear as he sat on the ground, Hosea digging through Onyx's saddlebags for a spare blanket he always kept on hand. 

"What's your name, son?" Dutch asked gently as he slowly crouched down to the boy's level. The child didn't answer. "It's okay, boy, we ain't gonna hurt you. We're gonna take you someplace safe, get you some food, and clean you up. You're alright now. Those bastards can't do any more harm to you, and no one else will if we have anything to say about it."

The child still didn't speak, too in shock. 

"It's okay, buddy, you can warm up to us with time. I think you'll find that we only have your best intentions in mind. You don't have to talk if you don't wanna."

"All that noise is gonna draw law." Arthur chimed in. 

"This is Arthur," Dutch told the kid softly, gesturing to the youngest outlaw. "You're gonna ride behind him. Is that okay with you?" The boy nodded a little after a few moments. "Don't worry too much about him. He looks big and mean, but he's got an even bigger heart. He'll most certainly protect you from any danger we may face along the way."

Slowly, as to not startle the boy, Arthur offered his hand out to him. The child took his hand and Arthur helped him up, the kid swayed unsteadily on his feet. Probably weak from malnutrition. Hosea came over and draped the blanket around his small frame, the boy pulling it tighter around himself. Part of his shaking must have been from how little of him there was, not enough meat on his bones to generate enough body heat. He was  _ so _ goddamn tiny. "'M gonna help you up onto my horse, okay?" Arthur asked quietly. The kid nodded again. 

Arthur was as slow and gentle as he could be. The boy hardly weighed anything at all, Arthur didn't even have to struggle to pick him up. He lifted him up high and sat him on Bo's rump behind the saddle, then mounted up. Hosea and Dutch were already on their steeds.

The four of them rode away, leaving the homestead far behind. 

~~~~~~~~~

They all but sneaked the kid into the hotel past the manager, which was easy because he was so tiny. They all slowly walked into the back room where they found Uncle, Susan, and Bessie sitting at the table. Their mouths fell open as they stared at their new guest. 

"Oh, my  _ God, _ " Bessie spoke up first, cupping her mouth with her hands. The boy took a few steps back, wary of the new people. Well, new to him, anyway. 

"Don't worry, son, these are our friends. They're all very nice people." Dutch reassured him with a slow, gentle pat on the shoulder. The kid flinched away a little. 

"Hello, honey." Miss Grimshaw said soft and sweetly, a tone Arthur had only ever heard when he himself got injured, or she was talking to Copper. And even then, it still wasn't ever like this. So careful, calm, and calculated, as though there were some kinda science behind getting the boy to stop shaking like a leaf. "What's your name?"

The boy still didn't speak.

"It's alright, sugar. We ain't gonna hurt you none." Susan continued. Uncle decided to stay quiet and still in the corner, clearly gauging the situation. Bessie was still sat there in shock as recollection danced across her eyes.

The boy was frozen where he stood. "Would you like somethin' to eat, cutie?" Miss Grimshaw asked. The child's sad, scared eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Alright." She stood slowly, everyone moved so slowly, the kid still looked ready to dart at any moment. "I'll go get you somethin', sweetie, be back in just a moment." Miss Grimshaw said finally, making sure to leave plenty of space between her and the boy as she left the room. 

Arthur was just standing there, frozen like the boy, but for different reasons. He tended to scare people just by looking at them these days. That was the last thing the kid needed right now, was some big, scary, nearing twenty-two-year-old looking down at him with a cold glare that was just kind of Arthur's resting face these days. 

Whatever this boy's name was, Arthur saw  _ way _ too much of himself in him. He can still distinctly remember the fear of everything around him. Can feel it coming off the boy in spades. 

They all just stood there. The door slowly creaked back open a few minutes later, and the boy jumped a little; but, Susan had geniusly made sure the plate of food was the first thing to grace his eyes, which widened upon seeing the bounty that'd been delivered, supposedly for him, which of course, it was, but another thing Arthur could sense from him was that gnawing uncertainty. 

_ Is this all for me? _ The child was surely thinking. Arthur's mind jumped back about seven years. Not to any specific occurrence, but a night in late June, '78 was the most prevalent memory. 

"Here you go, pumpkin, eat up," Susan said, still keeping that sweet as a songbird's tune tone in her voice. 

The kid practically snatched the plate away from her, then ran into the corner furthest from anyone, and ate ferally. Looked like a damn raccoon. Also looked like a sorry sight. The boy shoveled food into his face so quickly, Arthur hardly even saw his hands move. They were practically blurs as he shoved as many bites of fish, corn, and peas he could get his paws on into his mouth. 

_ I think it's got rabies _ , he didn't say aloud, because he'd been outwardly ignoring the boy's presence since he pulled him down from Bo. Again, didn't wanna startle him. No one did. And because Miss Grimshaw, Bessie, and Hosea at the very least would personally end him. 

Arthur had been taking small, quick glances at him now that they were in the light of the room. He was even thinner than he looked before. A truly sad sight. Arthur could see an outline of the boy's ribs through his too-big tattered shirt. They stood and sat there watching him eat, no one dared move too much. The kid was watching them right back, his eyes still fearful, darting to look at every little change in the room. 

He finished the plate quicker than any of the full-grown adults in the room could have. 

"... Thank you." The boy finally said in his unique raspy voice that sounded like he'd gargled glass shards, looking up at Miss Grimshaw with the tiniest hints of a smile on his lips. 

"You're very welcome, dear." Miss Grimshaw finally replied back with a reassuring smile of her own. "What's your name?" She tried asking again. The kid hesitated. 

"John." He said. "John Marston."

"How old are you, John?"

"Twelve."

_ Jesus Christ _ . Twelve years old? Arthur would have been long dead if he'd been thrown into the world at twelve. He already barely made it at nearly fifteen. 

"How long have you been on your own?" Hosea asked next. 

"Well… I dunno." John shrugged. "C-... Could I have some more food, please…?" 

"Of course, darling." Miss Grimshaw said. The boy, John, didn't flinch as she collected his empty plate and left to go get more. He wasn't shaking as badly. More of it must have been from starvation than fear. Or some of the fear had gone with the starvation. Didn't much matter. 

"You don't have any clue how long you may have been out there, John?" Dutch inquired. 

John shrugged. "Technically, a few years, since my pa died."  _ Ouch. _ "I was at the orphanage, but… I left like… A year ago?"

"A year…?" Hosea asked, eyes wide. John nodded. Everyone's faces turned real sad, especially Bessie, who was already miserable, to begin with. 

"Oh, you poor dear…" She said desolately. 

Susan came back with more food and John ate a little slower this time, though, not by much. In between bites, he answered their questions. 

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Five days ago."

"Slept?"

"Two days."

"How badly hurt are you?"

"I'm… Okay."

_ Bullshit. _

"Susan, would you patch him up and find him somewhere nice to lay his head?" Dutch asked as soon as John had finished his second plate. 

"Of course." Miss Grimshaw said. "Come on, John, deary, let's get you some attention and rest." 

"Okay." John yawned. He took the hand she extended to him, and they left the room. 

"... What… The Hell have we gotten ourselves into?" Arthur asked. 

"Adoption, it seems," Dutch replied. Arthur shook his head, eyes wide as he looked at his older mentor. 

"Have you finally lost your damn mind?"

"No, reckon I'll wait several more years before doing that." Dutch quipped back. 

"I dunno if you noticed, but we're buncha  _ criminals, _ " Arthur said. "Draggin' that boy with us is just a different way of hangin' him."

"We kept you alive, didn't we?"

"Hosea, can you talk some sense into this fool?" Arthur asked. Hosea was always the one to reel Dutch in when he got too crazy. 

"What sense?" The older man asked in return. 

"Are you  _ joking? _ "

"What are we supposed to do, Arthur?" Hosea inquired. "Dump him back out there? Take him to an orphanage he's just gonna run away from, so he can end up back out there on his own again, anyway?"

"We're  _ wanted men. _ " Arthur reiterated. 

"I know that just as well as you do, but the fact of the matter is, that boy hasn't known any kind of stability or familiarity in a long,  _ long _ time. And we just spent damn near half an hour trying to get him to warm up to us. We drop him off anywhere right now, it'd kill him."

"Keepin' him with us is gonna get him shot, or hung again!" Arthur exclaimed, wishing Hosea, or Dutch would see reason. 

"We ain't gonna let that happen to him," Dutch said resolutely. "Like I said, we kept you alive."

"Bessie, you're smart." Arthur directed his attention to her. "Tell them keepin' that boy ain't wise." He pleaded. 

Bessie wrung her hands together. "What else could we do, Arthur?" She asked desperately after a moment. "They're right. He ain't gonna stay put no matter where we'd drop him off."

"Arthur," Dutch said. Arthur turned to look at him. "Remember, son; we save fellers as need savin', feed 'em as need feedin'. John needs both, just like you did all them years ago."

"He isn't safe with us," Arthur said, standing his ground. 

"We'll have to  _ make _ him safe with us because he won't be safe anywhere else, and I don't know 'bout you, but the thought of the boy getting chewed up by wolves, hung again, or starving to death sits horribly with me."

"We always figured we'd be in this situation again, anyway," Hosea spoke up. 

_ This situation again.  _ ** _Please_ ** _ . _ Arthur hadn't been as young, nor as rough off as that boy, John was. He wished his mentors would stop comparing them, as though they were cut from the exact same cloth. Though, Arthur couldn't even stop doing so. It hit too close. Uncle was still notably silent in the background, head hung low as he quietly finished his beer. Arthur looked between Hosea, Dutch, and Bessie, the three figures who'd been in his life the longest. 

"We  _ have _ to keep him with us," Dutch spoke up again. "The boy won't make it out there on his own any longer. He's practically a skeleton."

And God did Arthur still remember that fact  _ very _ clearly, the image still fresh in his mind of the kid's ribs showing through his shirt, his arms the size of twigs. Arthur had seen full-grown men with biceps thicker around than John's torso, wrists thicker than his rope burned neck. The boy's face was gaunt and bony as the rest of him, and heavy bags that no kid that young should have hung under his fearful, bloodshot eyes. 

There was this base instinct that almost all creatures in this world possessed; the need to protect the weak, the small, the young, the vulnerable. John ticked off every box, and though Arthur would not have considered himself as someone who would fall victim to those instincts so easily… 

There's this burning feeling in him that screams,  _ he's so tiny, we  _ ** _have_ ** _ to take care of him, _ even though Arthur  _ knew _ bringing John with them was probably one of the worst ideas in the world. He could not fathom a single thing Hosea or Dutch would want to do that would be crazier than this. 

"I hope y'all know what you're talking about. For his sake."

"Have some faith, son," Dutch replied. "That boy'll be just fine with us, ain't nothin' gonna happen to him." Arthur didn't look so sure, because he most definitely weren't. "Again, we kept you alive. We can do it again."

"I guess we shall see." Arthur settled on. 

The door swung back open several minutes later, and Susan re-joined them. "Arthur, the boy, John. He's askin' for you."

"What? Why?"

"I have no idea." She said in reply. "Said he wasn't goin' to sleep unless you were there. He's in your room."

What the Hell  _ was _ this night? 

"... Alright." Arthur said after a moment. He felt eyes on him as he left the room. 

Why would John want  _ him? _

Arthur trudged slowly up the hotel steps and to the door of his room. He opened it, and there was John, sitting in the bed wearing some of Arthur's old clothes (that were  _ much _ too big for him). The kid immediately startled, having started to doze, but once he was fully alert again, he stared holes into Arthur's eyes. 

"... Arthur, right?" John asked unsurely. 

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yeah. Was told you wanted me?" John nodded back. Arthur was still confused, but he closed the door and walked through the room. "So… You, um, need somethin'?"

John shifted nervously where he sat. Shoulders hunched, fidgeting hands- a tinier, not quite mirror. "That feller with the curly hair…"

"His name is Dutch." Arthur supplied. 

"Dutch said you'd protect me?"

Arthur blinked a few times.  _ What? _ "I ain't sure I follow, kid. There ain't nothin' to be protected from here."

John hesitated for a few more moments, before he piped up, "'Cept for nightmares."

How many times was it possible for one small boy to break Arthur's heart? "... Why's it me, you want?"

John stared holes into Arthur again as he said, "Cuz you look like you been through it." The way he said it, Arthur could tell the kid didn't just mean bad dreams.  _ Great to know that I look so beaten down by life at twenty-one, to a twelve-year-old. Wonder what I'll look like when I'm Hosea's age _ . 

"So… What, you want me to… Stay with you, or something?" John didn't reply, just nodded again. "... Okay…" Arthur said slowly, unsurely, because he still couldn't understand exactly what the Hell was going on. 

Why him? Why not Bessie, or Susan, or Dutch, the one who'd shot the rope the boy dangled from off the branch of a sycamore tree barely an hour ago? What made him special? 

He'd never quite fully understand. Regardless, Arthur walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it next to John. "Are… You okay?" Arthur asked finally, wanting a straight answer himself. John said he was okay downstairs. Arthur didn't believe it. 

"... I got a roof over my head, proper-ish clothes, food in my stomach, and… I ain't dead." John answered with a shrug. "I been a lot worse."

Arthur nodded after a few moments. He understood, and somehow, John wordlessly let Arthur know that he understood right back. It almost felt akin to how Hosea and Dutch never needed to talk to actually communicate with each other, like the pair were telepathically linked or something. 

Dutch and Hosea had known each other ten years. Arthur'd known John ten minutes. Actually, thinking back, it only really took ten seconds; when Arthur was pulling John to his feet to help him up onto Boadicea. 

They really were cut from the same cloth, just a different part of it. 

The boy, John, was yawning then, tears pricking at his tired eyes. He looked absolutely exhausted. "Go to bed, John," Arthur said simply. The kid listened, tired body falling back on the bed as he drew the covers around himself extra tight. Arthur could feel his tremors through the mattress. 

"Too cold…" John whined tiredly a few minutes later, trying to draw in on himself more to trap whatever non-existent body heat he must have. The boy kept shaking, and Arthur could take it no longer, taking his boots off before moving to climb under the covers with him. "What are you…?"

"Trying to keep you from freezing."

John seemed perplexed, but it apparently clicked once Arthur drew the covers around them tightly, and his bigger, healthy body that trapped heat like an oven (so Mary had claimed) began to instantly warm everything up, John included. The boy wasn't even shy about scooting closer to him once he realized Arthur was producing that much heat. John was just about cold as ice, but Arthur kept himself from complaining about it too much. Kid needed to be comfortable, more than he did. He could always just get warmer. 

Cut from the same cloth. Arthur could still vividly remember the days when he was too thin, always cold no matter what. He wasn't there anymore. John was. 

"You're real warm…"

"Mm." Arthur hummed in reply. John laid his head on Arthur's chest, and he felt that intense need to keep the boy safe again, so Arthur cupped the back of John's head with his hand and pulled him closer like Hosea would do when he woke up from a nightmare. Weren't even anything to keep the boy safe from, but it was easier to tell just how small he was, from this close and personal. 

"... Arthur…?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think God'll forgive me? For killin' that feller, and tryin' to steal a chicken…"

Arthur didn't believe in that shit. Clearly, John did. "I dunno, kid. I don't know mucha anything, least of all 'bout the Lord's business."

"Oh…" John said. 

"Go to sleep, John. You're safe."

It was like he'd snuffed a candle out. Those two little words set the tired boy at ease, his breathing evened out, and he fell into a deep slumber, curled up to Arthur's chest. 

_ "Dutch said you'd protect me?" _

_ _ Arthur looked down at the boy, those feelings of unexplained protectiveness bubbling up again. 

_ I will. Til my last breath. _


	23. Just A Rock, Not A Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really just going nuts, writing all these chapters for y'all, ain't I? 
> 
> The slur 'queer' is used in this chapter for like two seconds and then it's over. Only used that word because it's accurate to the time period. 
> 
> Please enjoy, cowbros <3

Mr. Gillis  _ hated _ Arthur. He kind of saw it coming, truthfully. 

Mary had insisted that it was time Arthur met her family after they'd been sneaking around with each other for about six months. Needless to say, things went sourly. Arthur hadn't even done anything, only talked when spoken to, had chosen his words extra carefully, but Mr. Gillis seemed to know exactly who and  _ what _ Arthur was the entire time they sat around a grand dining table. 

Arthur had stepped out for a smoke at some point, reigning in all his anger, before Mr. Gillis joined him on the porch and fixed a mean glare at him. 

_ "I don't know who you think you are, boy, but I know  _ ** _exactly_ ** _ what your game is. If you think you have  _ ** _any_ ** _ chance with my daughter, you're out of your damn mind." _

So, needless to say, Arthur wasn't welcome at Gillis Manor. He wasn't so sure he'd wanna be welcome in such a place, anyway. The way Mr. Gillis treated his children, wife, and servants was downright appalling. The man yelled at his son, Mary's little brother, Jaime, damn near the entire time he was there for seemingly no reason, and Arthur was starting to understand why Mary was so often late to meet him. She was either getting chewed out herself or protecting her brother from it, he was sure. 

Today it was so bad that Mary had brought Jaime with her. Arthur found he couldn't mind, thinking of what the poor boy must go through every time Arthur dragged Mary away from him. And he was just that, a boy. Only nine years old. 

Either way, they were far outside of Chicago. Jaime had ridden front while Mary rode behind the saddle. Boadicea was a strong horse and could thankfully hold all three of them whilst still keeping up speed, not that they had to go anywhere very fast. The three of them were in a lush field, Mary and Arthur lying in the grass staring at the clouds while Jaime ran around, clearly happier than the boy had probably been in a long while. 

Arthur thought to John, sitting at home in the hotel at that moment. There were only a few years separating him and Jaime. He thought of how he'd feel if someone treated John the way Mr. Gillis did Jaime. 

Speaking of John, the boy was a little shit, but he was still growing on Arthur, and he definitely wouldn't appreciate someone treating John like that. It was a good thing their family was so much more loving, patient, kind, and sensitive than Mr. Gillis was. 

"Maybe you should meet my family next." Arthur thought aloud as they stared up at the puffy white clouds. 

"If they're half as nice as you, I'm sure I'll love them," Mary replied. 

They kept talking about it and eventually agreed that it was definitely time for Mary to meet the family. Sometime soon, maybe the next time they went out with each other. Arthur began teaching Jamie how to ride after the boy had stopped running around, and seemed taken with Boadicea. He taught Arthur how to braid, putting little twists into Bo's mane and tail that made the horse look nicer than she already did. 

Either way, that was earlier. Arthur rode back to the hotel, hitched Bo up, fed her, brushed her down, and cooed at her gently. "You're a good girl, Bo." He whispered to her as he brushed her coat. She was soon gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Arthur gave her a few more pats and her favorite treat, a few peppermints, before walking into the hotel, then the back room. 

John was running around while the grown-ups sat around the table playing poker. Amongst their group was also Colm and Patrick O'Driscoll, so Arthur assumed the brothers had come over to give Dutch some information, ended up staying for a game of poker. 

"Arthur!" John exclaimed excitedly. He ran over and hugged Arthur's legs, and the older man awkwardly patted the boy's back. "You're home!"

"Yeah, I'm home," Arthur replied. 

It'd been about three weeks since they saved John and took him in. Miss Grimshaw fed him basically all day long, but the kid still didn't seem to be putting on any weight. The bruises and rope burn were gone, though, as was the fear in his eyes. He seemed to trust them now, as much as anyone could trust after all the boy had undoubtedly been through. He was especially fond of Arthur, which he still couldn't understand. 

But John was a mouthy little bastard, and it made Arthur teeter between that line of loving and hating him. John cursed more often than Arthur would, and everyone ignored it, as though a few years ago Miss Grimshaw wouldn't have cuffed Arthur upside the head for even saying something as innocent as 'damn'. John's favorite swear was the f-word, and he basically got rewarded for it. The adults were always throwing candy, pocket change, and every scrap of love they had the boy's way. 

Which left Arthur just about forgotten. 

He shouldn't be bitter about it, he knew that, but he still was. A few weeks ago, Arthur had been the 'baby' of the group. It was him who'd been doted on, as much as any of them did that anymore with how much older he was getting. Now, it felt like he was entirely invisible. Even  _ Hosea _ seemed to have forgotten Arthur was there. 

John needed the attention a lot more than Arthur did, he knew that, too, and he'd be a hypocrite to get mad at the boy for accepting every last bit of it he was given. Arthur'd had the benefit of being with Dutch, Hosea, Bessie, and Susan for several years by now, and though he still maybe wasn't entirely right, Arthur was a lot better off than he had been when they found him. John had been on his own for  _ years _ before they picked him up a few weeks ago. The wound was still no doubt fresh. It only made sense for him to be their top priority. Arthur wasn't a boy anymore, he could take care of himself. 

Didn't make it sting any less, though.

"Uh, hello?" Arthur spoke up as Dutch, Hosea, Uncle, Colm, and Patrick continued their game of poker. 

"Hello, Arthur," Dutch said a bit disinterestedly as he threw some chips into the middle of the table. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for askin'," Arthur grumbled a bit as John pulled away from him to go run around the room with Copper some more.

"You're such a sulker, lately," Dutch said with a sigh. 

_ Gee, might have something to do with the fact that y'all barely even notice I'm here anymore, _ Arthur thought but didn't say aloud. Jealousy was unbecoming. Dutch would likely give him a lecture about how he needed to grow up, or something to that effect, and Arthur didn't want any of it right now. 

"O'Driscolls." Arthur greeted the brothers simply as he sat next to Hosea at the table. He hadn't talked to Colm or Patrick too many times. 

"Mr. Morgan." Colm greeted back, looking his cards over as he threw some chips into the middle as well. 

Colm and Patrick were everything that Dutch and the rest of their group stood against. Absolute slimeballs, the pair of them. People like them were why outlaws got such a bad rep. But, they got good information, were the reason Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch had been able to go on more jobs now than ever before. So, Dutch, and by extension, the rest, pretended to be just as slimy as the O'Driscoll brothers. Or at least to not have any qualms with how horrible they were. 

Colm and Patrick would come over, discuss a tip-off with Dutch, and as soon as they left, Dutch would talk shit about them.  _ Did you see the outfits they was wearing? Can you believe how foolish they are? What is wrong with them O'Driscoll boys? _ Everything under the sun Dutch could think to give them guff about, and Hosea would join in, even less fond of them than the younger man was. 

John had already figured out what they were just a few days after they rescued him.  _ "Y'all are outlaws, right?" _ The boy had asked Arthur as they lay in bed. John had bad dreams almost every night, refused to sleep unless Arthur was there. Turning twenty-two in about two weeks, and Arthur wasn't allowed to go wherever, whenever he pleased anymore, Susan slapping him upside the head if he walked in any later than midnight. Dutch gave him a million speeches about sacrificing things for the greater good. All that freedom he'd spent years working towards, gone, just like that. Camping trips were out of the question now, which left Arthur stuck in goddamned Chicago. No crickets, no campfire, just angry yells and the sound of hooves on cobblestone below. 

His privacy was gone now, as well, and that was about the only thing Arthur had ever enjoyed about them staying at a hotel in the city as long as they had. 

_ "Yeah, we're outlaws." _ Arthur had answered John, not seeing a need to lie to him. John was perceptive as all Hell, probably wouldn't have believed any lie Arthur may have told him, anyway. 

_ "I was told outlaws were bad people," _ John said next as he'd scooted closer to Arthur for warmth. The boy still didn't produce any body heat of his own. 

_ "Me, too." _ Arthur had replied.  _ "And yet, just like you, it was a pair of wanted men who saved my life." _

_ "I was saved by a  _ ** _trio_ ** _ of wanted men." _ John had corrected. Arthur had shrugged. 

_ "I didn't have much to do with it. Hosea and Dutch woulda saved you by themselves just fine if I hadn't been there." _

_ "But you were." _

"Hey, Hosea, you wanna go fishing later?" Arthur asked, pulled back into reality by the sound of John cackling wildly as Copper gave the boy sloppy dog kisses. The kid was even stealing his dog now, too, it seemed. He supposed he couldn't be mad at that, either. John probably hadn't had too many nice encounters with animals the past few years, and there was almost nothing more healing than petting a dog; or, so Arthur felt, anyway. 

"I've got some things to take care of when we're done here, sorry." Hosea denied, and Arthur tried not to let it show on his face how disappointed he was. Didn't much matter, no one was looking at him, to begin with. Hadn't, really, for weeks. "Take the boy fishing with you, he has to learn at some point. He can borrow my fishing pole, it's in Onyx's saddlebag."

Well, it wasn't like Arthur had anything better to do, and John was just about the only person who seemed to give a damn about him anymore. So, Arthur stood back up with a heavy sigh. "John." 

The boy pushed Copper off of him as he sat up from the floor where he'd been getting dog-kissed damn near to death. "Yeah, Arthur?"

"Get your boots, we're goin' fishing." 

"Okay!" John replied, and then ran out and up the hotel stairs to what Arthur supposed was  _ their _ room now. When he joined Arthur again, brand new boots on that Hosea had bought the day after they picked him up (along with a whole goddamn wardrobe), they walked out the hotel. Arthur got Hosea's fishing pole out of Onyx's saddlebag before mounting up Bo, pulling John up to sit in front of the saddle with him. Dutch and Hosea were talking about getting the boy a pony soon, as he was too small for a full-grown horse. 

John, much like Arthur, complained about the late spring heat as they rode out of Chicago. "Wouldn't be so overheated if you wasn't wearin' dark colors," Arthur told him, remembering what Hosea had said a few years prior. 

"What's wrong with dark colors?" John parroted what Arthur had asked those four odd years ago. 

"Somethin' to do with light. I dunno." Arthur replied back, never having been told the full answer, as Hosea himself had only half-known what he was talking about. 

They soon reached a lake Arthur decided would do them well for fishing in. He dismounted and pulled John down from Boadicea, gave her a few more peppermints and pats before he and the boy walked over to the water's edge. Arthur pulled his fishing rod and Hosea's out, handing the older man's to John. 

"First, we gotta bait up. Fish ain't gonna bite if there's nothing on the line." Arthur instructed, pulling a small container of worms out of his satchel. He opened up his collapsible fishing rod and stuck a worm through the hook. "Like that. Think you can manage?"

John nodded, opened Hosea's fishing pole, and put a worm on the hook, as well. "Now what?"

"Swing the rod back over your shoulder, like this," Arthur said, pulling his rod back the right way. John copied him. "Then you swing it back out towards the water. With your wrist, not your arm." He said, sending the line sailing through the sky towards the water where it soon fell to the surface of it. John, once more, did exactly what Arthur had, but wasn't able to get the same kind of distance as the older man.

John fidgeted nervously, looking down at his feet. "Do- do we have to stand this close to the water?"

"Closer to the shore you are, more leverage you have to pull the fish in," Arthur answered. Then he chuckled, asked, "What, you scared of a little water?"

"No!" John snapped back. "'Course I ain't scared. It's just water… was thinkin' I don't wanna get my boots wet, is all..."

"Right." Arthur agreed sarcastically. John didn't pick up on it. 

"Whatta we do now?"

"Start reelin' the line in slowly. The fish are attracted to the movement." John did just that, as did Arthur. "And now, the worst part; we wait."

"How long do we wait?"

"Til the fish decide they're hungry."

"How long does that take?"

"I dunno. Depends on the fish and when it last ate, I guess. Ain't up to us."

"This is boring." John declared with a whine as he kept slowly reeling the line in. 

"We barely started two minutes ago," Arthur said. "Fishing is important. You gotta know how to do it, in case anything ever happens to the rest of us, and you end up back on your own again. It'll keep ya fed."

"Ain't nothin' gonna happen to y'all, don't even say that," John replied with a frown. Arthur didn't bother trying to explain to John that there were thousands of things that could happen that might force the boy back into the world with no one. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

"Regardless, it's still important. When you get older, and we ain't stayin' in the city no more, we live off the land. Hosea and Dutch are gonna want you to pull your weight. That means bringin' in food. Which means you gotta learn to fish and hunt."

"Why I gotta learn to read and write?" John asked next. "Don't see how that's gonna help me live."

"It's important for its own reasons."

"What, like you with your diary?"

"Ain't a diary, it's a journal," Arthur argued. 

"What's the difference?"

"I said so, that's the difference."

"All the books Dutch got me tryin' to read are boring. Evelyn Miller, or whatever his name is, is the dullest person on Earth, I'm sure of it."

"He's Dutch's favorite writer," Arthur said. "Least you didn't start with Mark Twain. The man speaks nonsense. I swear, half the words he uses ain't even real."

"Mark Twain probably ain't as dull, though," John said. Arthur shrugged. "Where were you today? I woke up and you wasn't there."

"Went to see my sweetheart."

"What's her name?"

"You can't just go around assumin' stuff like that. Some men like men, and some women like women. Some like both."

"My pa said bein' queer is evil. That God don't like it."

"If God didn't like it, why would he have made those people queer?" Arthur asked, always keeping the fact he didn't believe in a God away from the boy. If the thought of a Lord above helped John live his life, Arthur wasn't gonna deny his existence in front of him. John shrugged. 

"Fair point. Guess he was wrong, then."

"To answer your question, her name is Mary," Arthur said. 

"You gonna marry Mary?" John asked. 

"I don't know. Maybe. We been goin' steady for a while now. Her father hates my guts, though."

"Why?"

"Cuz I'm a criminal."

"But you're nice."

"Don't mean nothin' to no one, long as you're breakin' the law on a constant." Arthur sighed. 

"How come Dutch and Hosea call us both 'son'?" John inquired because the boy never ran out of questions. "They ain't our parents."

"Cuz they're older than us. Hell, Hosea's old enough to be your grandfather. And cuz we treat each other like a family."

"Is that why they also call each other 'brother' all the time?"

"Yeah."

John was blessedly quiet for a few moments, and Arthur took a few deep breaths in, the sun on his face, listening to the water lap at their feet, and the birds chirping. 

"So… if Hosea and Dutch are brothers, and we're their sons… Does that make us brothers, too?"

The question caught Arthur off guard if he was honest. He snapped his head to John from where he'd been looking out at the water, and John stared back up at him with a hopeful expression.

"... I guess it does." Arthur finally answered, unable to tell the boy 'no', even if he'd wanted to. He didn't. 

John grinned a toothy smile. "I ain't never had a brother, before."

"Me, either. Think my folks wanted to have another kid, but there weren't time, cuz my momma died."

"Oh…" John said, suddenly sad. "... My pa used to tell me I killed my momma..."

"Why the Hell would anyone tell a child that?" Arthur asked incredulously. 

"She died givin' birth to me."

"That ain't your fault," Arthur said firmly. "You didn't choose to be born, no one ever has, or will, cuz it ain't possible. So don't you go on believin' it's your fault if you are, cuz it ain't. Bad things happen sometimes, and there ain't nothin' we can do about it."

"... Okay." John said quietly. "How'd your folks die?" He asked after a moment. 

"My mother got sick when I was real young. My father got shot, and not soon enough."

"What makes you say that?"

"He was a horrible man. One of the worst I ever known. I was just about fifteen when he was killed."

"What did you do?"

"Struggled, same as you, I guess," Arthur replied. "Hosea and Dutch found me just after I'd had a run-in with a vicious coyote. They took me in like they did you. I wouldn't be alive right now, if not for them."

"I'm glad they saved you. Otherwise, I still wouldn't have a brother."

"Yeah. I'm… glad they saved you, too."

"You helped save me, too." John reminded him once again. 

"... How'd you end up on your own?" Arthur asked after a moment. "Your pa decide he didn't want you no more, or…?"

John sighed. "He died in a bar fight when I was… Eight, I think. I was livin' in Chicago, and some folk found me, took me to the orphanage. I stayed there til last year."

"Why'd you leave?" 

"Didn't like it there. The other kids picked on me, the food tasted like shit, and I weren't allowed to go nowhere."

"So, you figured you'd be better off by yourself in the woods?" Arthur asked, not seeing the logic at first. Though, he supposed he couldn't talk, seeing as how he very well could have gone to a children's home himself, all them years ago, and didn't because he, too, didn't want his freedom taken away. 

"I didn't really think it all through, I guess. I knew there was lots of people livin' in the wild. Didn't know how hard it was. And anyway, I was a lot happier out there than I ever was in that orphanage."

"How'd you even make it out there? At twelve years old, no less?"

"I dunno." John shrugged. "Fate, maybe. Dumb luck. Somethin' like that."

"I definitely wouldn't be here if I'd been thrown into the world at twelve, or eleven, I guess. Barely made it at fifteen. I almost did end up out there at eleven, once."

"How?" John asked with concern. 

"Pa got arrested. He was an outlaw, and not the helpful type like we are. I guess none of them really are. Hosea and Dutch are… Unique."

"You can say  _ that _ again." John agreed. 

"Anyway, they was gonna hang him. He just barely got away. Woulda been bad news for me if he hadn't. I guess it still kinda was."

"Why's that?" John asked. 

"Like I said, he weren't a nice man. 'Specially not to me."

"Why?"

Arthur shrugged and sighed. "I still can't understand that, myself."

John was silent again for a few moments. The damn fish  _ still _ weren't biting. How long had they been out here now? Must have been twenty minutes at least. This was the part of fishing Arthur hated most. The goddamn waiting.

"I don't think the fish are hungry." John soon piped up. 

"Me, either." Arthur agreed. "Ain't like we need to come back with fish today, we was probably gonna throw 'em back, anyhow. It ain't good to take stuff from the environment you don't need. At least now you know what to do."

"Yeah. It'll keep us fed, one day." John said. 

The pair of them reeled the lines in, folded them back up, and Arthur put them away, along with the bait. "Come on, let's go home."

~~~~~~~

When they got home, John soaked up all the attention everyone gave him like a sponge as they ate dinner. Arthur sat in the corner by himself. 

"So, Arthur took you fishing?" Bessie asked John sweetly. Seemed like the only reason for them to mention him lately is if they were talking to the kid. 

"Yeah," John said as he shoveled potatoes into his mouth. "Fishin' is boring, though." He said with his mouth full. Susan didn't yell.  _ Woulda yelled at me. _

"It was very nice of Arthur to take you fishing," Susan said. "Did you learn a lot?"

"I think so. Fish weren't hungry, though, so we didn't catch nothin'. Arthur said it didn't matter, cuz we don't need the food right now."

"That's right, son, you should only ever take what you need," Dutch said, and Arthur rolled his eyes. The man had started giving Arthur these kinds of talks when he was about sixteen. John was twelve and had the attention span of a fly. "Greed is the thing killin' this country, John. If you take more than what you need, there ain't nothin' left for no one else."

"It's far too early for a philosophy lesson, brother," Hosea said in warning.  _ Not yet, _ his tone said.  _ He's still a kid, let him be one.  _

"Arthur said him and me are brothers, too, like y'all are," John said to their mentors. For the first time in weeks, all eyes strayed from John, and over to Arthur. It didn't last long. They were back on him within a few seconds. 

"I suppose in a way, you are brothers," Dutch said. "You both come from the same roots."

"I know, he told me," John said. "I'm glad I got a brother now."

"I'd bet, son." Dutch smiled warmly at him. 

They continued smothering John with love all night. No one even said goodnight when Arthur left the room. 

Arthur sat on the hotel's porch step, street lamps dimly helping him to see the sketch he was working on as a cigarette burned steadily between his lips. It was of John, and the toothy grin he gave Arthur earlier when they agreed that they were brothers. When he was finished, he wrote an entry. 

_ Took the boy, John, fishing today, had a long heart-to-heart talk with him about a number of things. He asked if we was brothers, and I said yes. Still  _ _ can't understand _ _ why he's so fond of me.  _

_ I cannot seem to decide if I love or hate him. Kid's done nothing wrong to me, and yet I'm bitter. Hosea, Dutch, Bessie, and Miss Grimshaw have barely spoken to me in weeks. They're all over him, day and night. I guess I'm jealous. Ain't like John's  _ _ trying _ _ to  _ <strike>_steal them from me_ _take up all their time_</strike> _ be the favorite. I could probably leave tomorrow, and no one would even notice or care, cuz hey, I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself. I don't need them anymore, or I shouldn't, anyway.  _

_ I guess it hurts, is what I'm trying to say. I've been with them for about seven years now, through thick and thin. John's been here three weeks, and he's all they can think about. I guess it's a bit like walking down the street, finding a rock, thinking it's a penny, finding an actual penny later down the road, and then throwing the rock out once you realize it ain't really a penny. Guess I'm a rock and not a penny.  _

_ Ain't like it's John's fault that he is a penny and I ain't, though. I  _ _ hate myself _ _ for being cross with him when he ain't never chosen to be a penny, nor for me to be a rock.  _

_ Hosea and Dutch wanted another kid this whole time, anyway. Guess they was always gonna find out I was a rock and not a penny. Guess I was always gonna end up here no matter what. Such is life, I suppose.  _

_ I'm glad I can relate to John, and I would be glad to call him my brother, but I am not glad to be forgotten the way I am.  _

_ I guess at this point the only thing I can hope for is that Mary don't find out I ain't a penny. Can only mistake a rock for a penny for so long, though, I suppose.  _

With a heavy sigh, Arthur closed his journal and put it away, then went back inside and up to bed. John was already there waiting for him. Arthur never let on about his bitterness, as he hadn't been. He still pulled the kid in close, kept him warm, and chased the nightmares away, even if it made his heart ache that he was a rock, and John was a penny. 


	24. If You're Bleeding From The Heart, I'll Come Around And Clean It Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song 'Family' by Mother Mother. It's a total Van der Linde fam song, check it out. 
> 
> Hosea is the best cowboy dad and you can square up if you feel otherwise. I'll wait. XD
> 
> Please enjoy <3
> 
> Also thanks for 100 kudos!!! ^_^

Watching Bessie dote over John for what felt like the thousandth time, Arthur almost considered packing his bags and leaving. 

He just felt so…  _ Unwanted. _ Like he'd outlived his purpose, like they'd only ever wanted him around for a cute face, and now that he was old and ugly, and they had a new one, he could go screw himself. 

_ You're being dramatic, _ he told himself.  _ You're not old. And you was certainly never cute, to begin with.  _

The only reason Arthur didn't leave was, ironically enough, John. Even with as much love as the boy was getting from everyone else, he knew he'd break John's heart if he left. The kid can't even sleep without him there. 

It just felt so hopeless. What was he supposed to do, turn back time so he could be a kid? So his family would pay attention to him once more? Even if that were possible, he'd just grow up all over again, they'd more than likely still find  _ another _ starved child out there (no shortage of those around), and Arthur would be right back where he was now. Again, he couldn't do that, so no matter how he looked at it, he was screwed. 

_ "Hey, Hosea, wanna go fishing?" _

_ "No, sorry, Arthur, I'm getting ready to take Bessie out for the evening." _

_ "Hey, Dutch, wanna play five finger filet?" _

_ "Colm and I are busy planning a heist." _

_ "You wanna go out drinking with me, Uncle?" _

Yeah, he'd even been so desperate for company that he'd asked  _ Uncle _ to spend time with him, of all people. 

_ "Naw, planned on goin' to the whorehouse and gettin' laid. You have fun, though." _

So, where else was he supposed to turn? Mary. She didn't even have any idea John existed, she couldn't pick the boy over him. 

He met her at the place they normally did, especially since that drama at her house with Mr. Gillis, the coffeehouse where they'd spent their first day together. They rode out of the city on Boadicea like they always did, finding a nice patch of grass to lay on while watching the clouds. She laughed at his jokes, smiled at him sweetly, and made him feel a little less lonely. But only a little. 

"What was it like, when your little brother Jaime came around?" He asked her at one point. 

"I was happy, for sure. I'd always wanted a sibling. Being an only child is real lonely, sometimes. I'm sure you know that, though."

_ No, ain't so sure I know that anymore. _ "I guess."

"... What's eating at you, Arthur?" She asked, turning onto her side to face him. "You don't seem yourself."

He almost decided against telling her. Almost. Arthur sat up and she followed suit, a concerned look on her face. "It's… real complicated."

"Take your time." She encouraged him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Arthur picked at the grass absently, feeling all those insecurities he had lately bubble back up to the surface. He came out here with her to get away from it, and just ended up dragging it out here with them. 

"I didn't tell you this when it happened, cuz… I dunno, it was a  _ lot. _ But my family and I, few weeks ago, we found a boy." He started. She looked confused, so he continued. "His name's John. Some angry fellers was gonna hang him for tryin' to steal a chicken, cuz he was hungry."

"Why would anyone do that to a child?" She asked. He shrugged. 

"I don't know. Anyway, we saved him, just about. My mentors, fellers who took me in, they took him in, too, and… I don't know… Feels like they don't care about me anymore. It's all John this, John that, every day. I can barely even get them to look at me for two seconds."

"Have you tried talking to them about it?" Mary asked. 

"No," Arthur answered. "How pathetic would they think I am, for being jealous of a twelve-year-old boy? They'd probably just laugh right in my face, call me a fool, and move on."

"Does John know?"

"No." He said again. "I don't wanna tell him about it, either. Ain't his fault they're ignoring me, I just…" He sighed. "He needs the attention, I get it. I surely do. I remember clingin' to every scrap of affection tossed my way, especially those first few weeks I was with them, cuz I was so starved of it. But now, I'm surrounded by people who used to make it so outwardly clear that they  _ cared, _ and  _ all _ of that care is going to him. And even in a room filled with most the people I love, I feel… So…  _ Empty… _ "

For lack of words, Mary gave him a sad look, before pulling him into a hug. Arthur melted into it.

For the life of him, Arthur couldn't fathom why it was that Hosea and Mary were the only two people in the world he felt comfortable spilling his guts to. He supposed he had exposed some of his soul to John, too, and that the reason he was in this mess right now was because he couldn't tell Hosea. The older man would surely fix things if only Arthur could tell him. But he couldn't. He didn't wanna make it sound like he didn't want John around at all because that couldn't be further from the truth; well, technically he did want the kid gone, but only for John's own sake. 

Why did this have to be so hard? 

~~~~~~~~~~

It was June twenty-second again. 

_ Another year older, but definitely not wiser, _ Arthur thought as he lay in bed. 

It was probably around noon, Arthur reckoned if the way the sunlight was streaming in the windows had anything to say about it. John wasn't there next to him, probably long up for the day. 

_ Don't wanna move. _

He'd been having that thought as he woke up more and more often. 

For the longest time, Arthur laid there, trying to go back to sleep, to no avail. There was too much noise outside, the city of Chicago having no knowledge or sympathy towards Arthur's plight. Probably wouldn't care if they did all collectively know, his family sure as Hell didn't seem to.

_ Stop being bitter towards them, you stupid sack of shit, _ he told himself a little aggressively.  _ They're taking care of a boy. 'Course they don't care how miserable your grown-ass is. You're acting like a baby.  _

As soon as Arthur realized going back to bed was a losing battle, he pulled himself up and sat there for a few moments, stretching his limbs groggily. He sat there several more moments before mustering the energy to pull his boots on, slowly. One boot on. A minute pause. The other boot next.  _ Please let today be alright.  _ He stood from the bed and walked out the door, closing it behind him before trudging sluggishly down the steps. 

They couldn't have forgotten, right? They never forgot. Today would be just like every other June twenty-second before for the past seven years. He'd walk in there and immediately get bombarded with more attention than he would have appreciated any other year. Would be a welcome change, this one. 

Arthur's hand paused on the doorknob to the back room. 

_ Surely, _ John's spell on them had broken by now. It'd been a month. The novelty had to wear off eventually. He'd walk in, Hosea would have already read the newspaper and saw the date. Maybe they would have been too taken with John the past few weeks to get him any gifts, but he didn't care about that. He never wanted their  _ presents, _ just their  _ presence. _

He opened the door slowly and stepped in. 

"Mr. Morgan!"

Just to get immediately bellowed at by Miss Grimshaw. 

"Yes, Miss Grimshaw?" He asked flatly. 

"It's about damn time you got up, it's nearin' one in the afternoon!" She chastised hands on her hips. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Grimshaw, I was… Up late last night with John." That wasn't a lie. John'd had a nightmare, stirred somewhere around three in the morning, and then didn't drop again until just about five. 

Nevermind Arthur hadn't gone to bed til nearly two, his head swimming with conflicting and miserable thoughts. 

"We been waitin' on you damn near all day, Arthur," Dutch said, and Arthur felt the smallest little sliver of hope. 

"What for?"

"We got a job, Colm and Patrick gave me some real good information, and it's  _ very _ time-sensitive, so we have to leave soon."

"... Oh."

So, that was all he was now. An extra set of hands. A soldier, not a son. 

"Make sure you got everything you may need, we leave in a few minutes," Dutch said then, looking over a map. There was a newspaper in Hosea's hands. 

Even Hosea forgot? The first thing the older man did when he opened at the paper was look at the date. 

"Yessir," Arthur replied quietly. He slowly turned to leave the room. 

"Oh, Arthur?" Hosea spoke up. 

"Yeah?" Arthur asked, that sliver of hope coming back again as he turned to look at the older man. 

"Make sure to dress dark, this is a stealth mission."

His shoulder sunk along with his mood. "Yessir." He said again, then exited the room, and went to go get ready as quickly as he could force himself to. 

~~~~~~~~

Well, the stealth part of the job went to Hell. 

Arthur had been too miserable to focus, missed his cue, screwed up big time, and bullets had started flying. In the end, they were still standing, and they got paid, but now Dutch was cross with him. 

"Was your head in the clouds back there, or something?" He asked as they rode back towards Chicago. "Thought I specifically told you to pay attention because this was a time-sensitive job."

"I'm sorry."

"We all could have gotten killed."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Luckily, we reacted quickly enough. Even you, who's been trudgin' around like a buffalo."

Arthur didn't reply. Just kept his head hung as they rode. 

"Really hope what you pulled back there don't draw the law to us. That's the last thing we need, 'specially as John still ain't yet fit for travel."

_ John, John, John. _ Even since they'd left that afternoon, he was basically the only thing Dutch had talked about. Arthur slowed Boadicea to a halt, and Dutch and Hosea soon stopped in their tracks as well. 

"What are you  _ doing? _ " Dutch gritted out at him. "I just said there could be law, and you wanna take a break?"

"Just go home without me," Arthur replied quietly.

"What are you playing at here?"

"Just go," Arthur said again, steering Boadicea off the path to Chicago and onto a different one. He gave a gentle kick to her sides and sent her into a full gallop. 

"Arthur!" He heard Hosea yell to him, but he didn't look back. 

Bo kept running. Arthur wished the running could actually get him away from his problems, but they just seemed to follow him. Wherever Arthur was, there, too, were his insecurities, his doubts, and the crippling misery. 

~~~~~~~~

Arthur was sat by their hidden wagon of camp needs far outside the city. A bottle of whiskey in hand, he dug through a crate near the back, filled with all his old journals. 

He flipped through them desolately in between nips off the bottle in his hand. Graphite marks on the paper captured happier days when he wasn't being replaced and forgotten. Images that'd bloomed from his hands of days long gone, his family sitting around the fire, smiling and laughing, drinking and singing. He doesn't read the entries, because he knew the words would hurt more than his crude sketches. The Arthur who'd filled up those pages with flowing cursive had no idea what would be in store for him in the future. 

Arthur flopped back into the grass after finishing a few more sips of liquor, looking up into the Milky Way stretched across the sky before him. Normally, star gazing would make him feel better. It didn't that night. 

A few minutes passed of staring up into the sky before Arthur heard hooves approaching. He should get up, see who it is, make sure they ain't unfriendly, but currently, he didn't give a shit.  _ Go ahead, do it, what do I care? They probably won't even come looking for me. _

"Arthur."

It's Hosea. Arthur didn't reply. He sat up, back turned to the older man as he took another few chugs off the bottle. 

"Slow down, son, you're gonna drink yourself to death like that."

"Why's it matter?" Arthur slurred back, not drunk, but not sober, either. 

"I'm pretty sure Susan and Dutch at the very least would skin me if I let ya do that." Hosea quipped back. Normally, Arthur would find his dry humor funny. Not so much at that moment. 

"No, they wouldn't," Arthur muttered. "Whatta they care?"

He heard the older man sigh, and then he heard footsteps.  _ Good, get back on your horse and go, leave me alone. I ain't worth your time. I'm just a damn rock.  _

But the footsteps were approaching, not departing. Hosea soon sat in the grass next to him. "What brings you out here, Arthur? What happened back there?"

"Why's it matter?" Arthur asked again. "Sorry, you was prob'ly sent out here for my sorry ass. Just tell 'em you found me dead or somethin'."

"No one sent me, I came out here of my own volition." 

"Then, you're a fool."

"Arthur," Hosea said his name again, gentler this time as he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur pulled away from it. 

"Jus' go. Stop pretendin' like you care."

"I ain't  _ pretending, _ son, I'm  _ worried _ about you," Hosea said. Arthur should have believed him, but he didn't. 

"Sure, that's rich." He snorted. 

"Arthur…" Hosea said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder again. Arthur didn't pull away this time, turned his head in the slightest to look at him. "Son, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'." Arthur denied. "Just forget about it. It don't matter."

"You've been miserable for weeks," Hosea said. "That don't seem like nothing. I should've said something sooner, but I kept hoping you'd come to me, or that it'd eventually resolve itself. But it clearly ain't workin' either of those ways."

"... You noticed…?"

" _ Of course, _ I noticed, son. Ain't much that gets past me." Hosea replied. "Now, come on, what's wrong? Did something happen with Mary?"

"No."

"You know you can tell me anything. We've been down this road before. I can't help ya if I don't know what's wrong."

"It ain't that simple."

"Sure, it is," Hosea said. Arthur scoffed. "Please, Arthur, open up to me."

"... Don't you know what today is? Or you been too busy to care?" Arthur regretted saying it as soon as he did, but Hosea'd always had a way of prying these kinds of things out of him. It was always in his best interests, anyhow. 

"Do… You think I  _ actually _ forgot your birthday?"

"...You didn't…?"

"God, son, of course, I didn't forget. How could I?" Hosea replied. "You've just never liked us making a big deal out of it, so I figured we'd just make your mood worse if we did. Specifically told everyone  _ not to _ because I didn't wanna upset you any further."

"Well, I wanted you to, this year…" Arthur admitted quietly. "I been… It's just… Feels like I ain't wanted there no more."

"Why would you  _ ever _ think we don't want you?" Hosea asked. Arthur didn't know how to answer that. There were a million reasons, honestly. "... This is about how much time we been spending with John, ain't it?"

Arthur hesitated, then nodded. "Ain't that pathetic…? That I'm jealous of a kid…"

"You don't  _ honestly _ think we're tryin' to replace you with him, do you?"

"Feels like it…" Arthur replied, unable to keep the sadness out of his voice as he picked at the grass. "Y'all have barely spoken to me in a month, 'less we was out on a job. I feel like I've tried a hundred times or more to try and spend some time with you, or Dutch, Bessie, Miss Grimshaw, and even  _ goddamn Uncle, _ and you're all always busy with John, or something else, and now today, I just…"

"Arthur…" 

"Just cuz I ain't a kid no more, don't mean I don't need yous, too…"

"No, of course, you do," Hosea said. "Shit… I'm sorry, son. If I'd known you was feelin' like this, I woulda said somethin' sooner."

Arthur didn't have much more to say after that. Hosea pulled him closer and Arthur leaned against him as the older man rubbed slow circles into his back. 

"We love you, son," Hosea said after a moment. "I'm sorry we ain't been the best at showin' it lately. You deserve better than that."

"I love all'a you, too…" Arthur replied softly. "Even… Even John. I think."

"He definitely thinks the world of you. Saw me an' Dutch walk in without ya earlier, and panicked. Thought somethin' had happened to you."

Shit, he'd made the kid think he was dead? 

"Let's go home." Hosea then said, reaching up to muss Arthur's hair. He'd left his hat in Bo's saddlebag. "I'll help ya talk to everyone else about this, we'll get it all sorted, and everything'll be alright again."

"Okay…" Arthur said. "Thank you, Hosea…"

"You're very welcome, son." The older man said with a smile. He pulled away and stood to his feet, offering a hand to help Arthur up. The younger outlaw accepted the offer, swaying a little as he stood. Again, definitely not drunk, nor entirely sober. He'd still be able to ride. 

He and Hosea put the journals Arthur had dug out away, and then mounted up, heading towards Chicago. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Like earlier that day, Arthur's hand paused on the doorknob. Hosea gave his shoulder a squeeze, and Arthur looked back at him. 

"What if they think I'm bein' dumb…?"

"They won't," Hosea assured. "It'll be alright, Arthur. I'm right here behind ya." 

The older man gave him a smile, and though Arthur was still in too sour of a mood to reciprocate, it put him a little more at ease. 

He opened the door, and they stepped into the room. The first person Arthur noticed was John, sitting in the corner with Copper. Upon walking in the room, John looked up from the canine, a big grin pulling onto his face. "Arthur!" He exclaimed happily, quickly pulling himself to his feet before scrambling over and throwing his arms around the older man. Arthur returned the hug. "You're okay!"

"Yeah, John, I'm okay."  _ Or, I will be, anyway, I hope. _

"I was worried about you somethin' awful, why were you gone so long?"

"Needed some air," Arthur answered. 

"John, could you go wait for Arthur upstairs, please?" Hosea asked. "The adults need to have a talk."

"What about? Is something wrong?"

"Shouldn't be nothin' to fuss over, we'll have it sorted in a few minutes, and then your brother'll join ya for bed. Don't worry, alright?"

"Oh… Well… Okay." John said. He let go of Arthur. Everyone in the room, save for Arthur, said goodnight to the boy, John leaving the room with Copper tailing him. Which just left Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, Bessie, and Susan. 

Hosea guided Arthur over to the table the rest were sat around, pulling out a chair for him. Arthur sat, and Hosea followed suit next to him. "About damn time you got back, what were you thinkin', runnin' off like that?" Dutch chastised him. 

"Watch it." Hosea scolded the other man back.

"Hosea, he could've drawn attention to himself and gotten thrown in a cell," Dutch replied back. 

"He wouldn't have run off like that if you'd pull your head outta your ass and realize he's  _ depressed _ cuz he thought we don't love him anymore."

"... The Hell would make you think a thing like that?" Dutch asked Arthur. The youngest outlaw fidgeted with his hands. This was a lot of people to be emotionally vulnerable to all at once. 

"You… I…"

"We've been ignoring him, because of the boy," Hosea said for him when Arthur couldn't find the words. " _ And _ he thought we forgot that it's his birthday."

"Of course, we didn't forget today's your birthday!" Dutch said. 

"Felt like it..."

"We ain't been spending nearly enough time with him, he's been walkin' around like a kicked dog cuz he's been feeling replaced." Hosea continued. "You snappin' at him earlier didn't help at all."

"... Arthur..." Bessie spoke up, reaching across the table to put a hand on top of his. She gave it a squeeze, and Arthur looked up from the table at her. "You… Really thought we didn't love you anymore?"

He hung his head again. "... Yeah…" He was ashamed to admit. 

"Honey…" Susan said next, using that sweet tone that'd been reserved for the kid recently. "Of course, we love you. Ain't no favorites here, we love you  _ just _ as much as we do John. Grown or not, you're still our boy."

"I know…" Arthur replied quietly, because even through the reeling he'd been doing the past month, of course, a part of him knew they still cared. The part of his brain that told him they didn't just happened to be louder and more persistent. "I'm… Sorry. For being a fool."

"Sounds like we should be the ones who are sorry," Dutch said. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"I thought you'd think it was silly, or that the boy would mistake it for me sayin' I don't want him around," Arthur admitted. "He's been through it, and… I didn't wanna make it all about me, cuz he needed the attention more, I guess, but…"

"It still hurt you, huh…?" Susan asked. Arthur nodded. There was a collective sigh around the table. "Oh, what a bunch of fools we've been. We should have known."

"We're so, so sorry we made you feel like you weren't loved anymore, Arthur, darling," Bessie said, stroking Arthur's knuckles soothingly. 

"And that we made you think we forgot your birthday." Dutch pitched in. 

" _ And _ that we ain't spent enough time with you lately," Hosea added. "No more of that, not anymore. All you have to do is say the words, and we'll find time for you, son."

"Thank yous…" Arthur mumbled gratefully. Looking around the table, all he saw was love and care. How could he have ever thought different? 

"It's a little late to celebrate now, but how's about we throw you a party tomorrow, son?" Dutch asked. Arthur shook his head. 

"No, I don't need a party." He said. "Weren't ever about that."

"No, 'course not," Dutch replied, understanding in his tone. "Regardless, happy birthday, son."

There was a chorus of "happy birthday, Arthur," around the room, the youngest man felt the smallest smile tug on his lips. "Thank yous." He said again, a bit of a relieved laugh in his voice. 

"Go get some rest, dear, you look exhausted." Miss Grimshaw said. "Everything'll be alright in the morning."

Arthur nodded and stood to leave. Bessie and Susan stopped him before he could leave the room, planting a kiss on his forehead, everyone wished him sweet dreams, and he went up the stairs to his and John's room with a weight lifted from his shoulders. 

To find John with his ear to the floor. 

They were set up right above the meeting room. 

John immediately scrambled to sit up, trying to feign ignorance. "I- I wasn't eavesdroppin', I swear." He stuttered. 

"... How much of that did you hear?" 

"... Enough…" John admitted. 

Arthur closed the door behind him and walked across the room, sitting on the floor in front of John. 

"... John."

"I'm real sorry, Arthur," John replied sadly. "I didn't know I was stealin' them from ya, honest. It's just… Been so long since anyone gave a shit about me, and I got carried away with it, and-"

"I ain't mad at ya, John."

"... You ain't…?"

"No," Arthur replied. "I understand, kid. I was there, too."

"Right," John said in way of agreeing. 

"I ain't angry with none of ya." Arthur continued. "I was just… Wrapped up in my own messed up head. Makin' a bigger fuss than I needed to be. It ain't no one's fault, least of all yours. And it's fixed now, so, don't worry."

"... Okay." John said. "Um, Arthur…?"

"Yeah, John?"

"I love you, too. Happy birthday."

And then, a real smile graced Arthur's face, and he adored the apparent happiness it brought the boy. "Thank you, John. I love you, too."

There was a knock on the door, and then it swung open. There stood Hosea, a fond smile on his face as he looked at them with a hand on his hip. "Thought you kids was told to get to bed?" He said jokingly. 

"Aw, but we ain't sleepy...!" Arthur replied back with a fake whine in his voice, still wearing that grin. It made Hosea's even bigger. 

"No buts, young man!" The older man replied jovially. "Go on, into bed with ya's."

"Will you tuck us in?" John asked. 

"Can only do so if you boys're in bed, now, can't I?" 

Excited at the idea of being tucked in, John scrambled up from where he was sat on the floor. Arthur followed behind him a bit slower, but it wasn't like the depressed sloth he'd felt earlier that day. Miss Grimshaw had been right, he was exhausted. And maybe still a little drunk. 

Arthur took his boots off as John climbed in under the covers and Hosea started turning the lamps off, leaving only the light from the moon streaming in through the window. Arthur laid down as well and John snuggled up next to him. Copper hopped up on the bed and curled up between their feet. 

Hosea walked over to John first, tucking the blanket in around him before leaning down and planting a kiss on his head. "Goodnight, John, sweet dreams."

"Night, Hosea."

Arthur decided as Hosea tucked him in next that he was  _ way _ too old for this, and yet didn't mind. Soon as the covers were tight around both him and John, Hosea leaned down again, tucked a strand of hair behind Arthur's ear, and kissed the top of his head. "Goodnight, Arthur. Happy birthday. Sleep well."

"G'night, Hosea," Arthur replied quietly, smiling up at him. Hosea's smile had never even left his face. 

"Goodnight, boys." The older man said as he went to leave the room. "We love you both."

"We love you, too," John said back. 

Putting his fingers to his lips, Hosea blew them a kiss and left the room. 

"Your breath smells funny," John said a moment later. Arthur laughed quietly, lest they face the caring wrath of Papa Hosea again. 

"Yeah, I had a little drink. Don't tell Miss Grimshaw, she'd murder me."

"Tell Miss Grimshaw about what?" John asked nonchalantly. 

"Exactly," Arthur confirmed. 

And then John yawned for a long while. "Night, Arthur…"

"Goodnight, John." 

John didn't have any bad dreams, and Arthur didn't stay awake wrapped up in his head all night. All was right in the world. 


	25. The Silliest And Softest Of Dreams

Arthur was pretty sure the world had it out for him. 

"Hold still…"

Mary tried to set his nose back into place as gingerly as possible, but it still stung like a son of a bitch. 

"Ah, shit!"

"Sorry…!"

Arthur pulled away from her and gently touched the bruised and bloody skin of his face. "Son of a bitch, bastard got me good." He muttered. 

Mr. Gillis apparently didn't like the fact that Arthur had walked Mary home. Or maybe the man was just pissed drunk and finally got tired of using his son and wife as verbal punching bags. Arthur didn't quite know, he hadn't even done or said anything. The man just came storming out after seeing him from the window, marched over, and jacked Arthur straight in the face. 

He idly wondered how many more times his nose was gonna get broken. Already been a couple times, and every time it happened, it just made him uglier than he already was. 

"I cannot believe that man," Mary said with disgust in her voice, crossing her arms against her chest. 

"I can't believe people like him are actually real," Arthur replied jestingly. 

"I don't even wanna go in there, now," Mary said with a heavy sigh. "I'm never gonna hear the end of it if I do."

Arthur scratched at his chin, feeling tickles of hair under his fingers. The beard was coming back in, better than ever. Maybe he would be able to enjoy it sometime soon. Or maybe Dutch would make him shave it off again. His hair was getting longer again, too, and he could only hope the older man and Miss Grimshaw lay off about it because contrary to Dutch's claim that Mary would be impressed with it cut short, she wasn't. 

He was wondering about how to solve Mary's issue of not wanting to go into her house when it clicked. 

"... You wanna come home with me?"

She looked at him rather abruptly, like he'd asked her if she wanted to jump off a cliff with him or something. "Right now?"

"Sure, you wanted to meet my family, right?" He asked. "Now's as good a time as any, ain't it?"

"... I suppose it couldn't do any harm." She said. "And I definitely don't wanna face my father when he's like this."

"There ever a time he ain't like that?"

"Arthur." She chided him. 

"What? I wasn't jokin', that was an actual question." He mumbled. She rolled her eyes a little. "So… You comin' with me?"

"I'd love to," Mary replied with a smile. Arthur held out an arm to her, and she looped hers through his. 

It'd been about eight months since they started seeing each other. For the last two, Mary'd practically had to run away in order to come see him, her father giving her guff any time she looked like she was about to leave the house. Today, she'd had to climb out the window, told Arthur she'd nearly fallen and probably would've snapped her neck; and yet, Mr. Gillis thought Arthur was dangerous for her. She wouldn't have to put herself in such risky situations if he'd just back down. 

Then again, he supposed the same could be said for him. Mary wouldn't have to put herself in danger if Arthur'd back down, either. He wasn't gonna, though. 

Any time Mr. Gillis saw Arthur anywhere near the house, he'd come raging out. Last week, the asshole kicked him in the manhood. Guess he was trying to make sure there weren't any little Gillis-Morgans running around in a few years. Needless to say, it was a pretty horrible occurrence. He'd had to stick around another twenty or so minutes after that just to be able to ride right. Mr. Gillis and Mary argued the whole time, caused a big spectacle, the only thing breaking it up being some angry feller threatening to report them to the law for disturbing the peace. Arthur was certain Mary got chewed out once they were in their home, where the walls would have muffled their screams. 

Luckily, Arthur hadn't been kicked in the nether regions today, just punched in the face and got his nose broke. For probably like the tenth time now. Which meant after the pain of it getting set back into place had dulled down, Arthur hardly felt it.  _ Ha, gonna have to try harder than  _ ** _that_ ** _ to get your daughter not to go with me.  _ The thought of Mary giving up on them because of her father was an unwelcome one, but a thought he'd grown familiar with, nonetheless. 

Mary made him feel like a blustering fool, and like the happiest man alive. Every now and then, the sight of her beauty still made him tongue-tied like an absolute idiot. If he had a problem, she listened. If he needed a shoulder to cry on, she was there. If he made a joke, she'd laugh. She made him laugh, too, made him grin so big that he was loopy with joy, made his heart soar, and his brain turn to mush in the best way possible. He couldn't remember ever being so happy in his whole life. 

God, he wanted to kiss her  _ so _ badly. 

They were taking things slow. Arthur had rarely ever thought about the more intimate stuff, much too happy in her company, even if that entailed that the most action he'd seen was a few pecks on the cheek. All of that other stuff could wait. Arthur was already convinced that this was the woman he was gonna spend his days with, they had the rest of their lives ahead of them. For now, he was happy to talk, and laugh, stare at the sky with her and sketch her face over and over until it was burned into his mind. 

_ Wonder what kissing's even like, _ he thought, not for the first, and likely not the last time. 

He absolutely had no idea what he was gonna do once he actually had the chance to lock lips with her. Arthur had seen Hosea and Bessie smooch plenty of times, sure, and every now and then, a drunk Dutch would get  _ super friendly _ with the working girls in the saloons. Although, kissing most definitely was  _ not _ the thing a drunk Dutch was very focused on. More like groping.  _ Copious amounts of meaningless groping.  _ More than once now, Arthur's had to leave in a hurry while drinking with the slightly older man out of mortifying embarrassment. 

Either way, it wasn't like intimacy of any form was a skill to be taught, he was gonna have to figure it all out on his own. Arthur had no idea what he was doing really, in general, for any of it. He supposed he could cross that bridge when he got there. 

The walk to the hotel was a long one, but Arthur was more than content to be alone with Mary for a little while longer. Eventually, though, they reached the hotel porch. "This is where we've been stayin'."

"This whole time you've been in Chicago?"

"Yeah, pretty sure the hotel owner knows what we're doin' and just keeps his trap shut cuz we slide him a couple extra bucks every few days."

"Awfully generous of him." She said. 

"I mean, not really, he ain't losin' nothin'. All the rooms are always filled up, so he's making as much and more than he probably usually woulda.  _ Personally, _ I think we should go back to camping. The woods don't charge a dollar a day." Mary giggled a little at that, and as always, the sound was sweet as music to Arthur's ears. "... I should probably warn you ahead of time, my family is… Unique."

"Unique, huh?" She asked with an interested expression, brow raised as she smirked. 

" _ Especially _ my mentors." He confirmed. "They can all be a bit loud every now and then. And they love poking fun of me for… Literally anything and everything under the sun."

"Do… You think they'll be okay with me?" She asked a little anxiously. "I don't particularly fancy the idea of them hating my guts, given my father already hates yours."

"I guess we can only hope." Arthur shrugged. "And anyway, even if they don't like you, they'll still be a lot more civil about it than your daddy ever is."

"Well… Now or never, right?"

Arthur just nodded a little and opened the door to the hotel, shutting it behind them before leading her over to the door of the back room. Muffled behind it, Arthur could recognize the sound of John cackling as he and Copper ran around the room. Even from behind the door, he could also recognize the soft timbre of Hosea and Dutch's voices. 

"Let me just see if they're okay with company first," Arthur said, admittedly a bit nervous. He  _ really _ wanted this to go well.

"Okay." She replied quietly, stepping to the side where she would be out of view before Arthur opened the door. 

"Arthur, there you are!" Dutch called happily. John no longer had a tendency to run over and hug his legs, instead continuing to run around the room with Copper. "Come join the discussion, son, we're talkin' about the complexities of the world."

"Probably too much of an enigma for him to wrap his head around, brother." Hosea ribbed. "How'd your date go, son?"

"Went fine, til I got punched in the face," Arthur replied. 

"Oh, damn," Dutch said, looking closer to see the dried blood and forming bruises on Arthur's face. "Her daddy must really hate you."

"He does. Kicked me in the balls, last week." 

"What are you doin, just standin' there with the door wide open, son?" Dutch asked next. Arthur shifted awkwardly on his feet. 

"Uhm, I… Wanted to know if y'all was up for some company. Besides just me, I mean."

"What, you make a new friend or somethin'?"

"Not quite," Arthur replied. He looked over to where Mary was hidden from sight behind the wall next to him. 

"I mean… Sure, the more the merrier." Dutch said. Arthur made a motion with his head to Mary signaling her over and she slowly walked into the room with him. "... Well, then." Dutch said, standing to his feet. "You must be Miss Gillis."

"Yes, that's me," Mary replied as all eyes in the room were on her. 

"Arthur speaks of you all the time," Dutch told her as he crossed the room. 

"It's not  _ all _ the time." Arthur denied. 

"The boy's lying, you're practically the only thing he knows to talk about, these days." Hosea helpfully supplied. Arthur frowned in the older man's direction. 

Dutch soon reached them, and he held his hand out to Mary, who shook it amicably. "Dutch Van der Linde, at your service, ma'am."

"Mary Gillis, but you already knew that." She replied. 

"Are you that girl Arthur's gonna wed?" Asked John, and Arthur fixed him with a glare, too. Nowadays, John was all piss and vinegar, so he glared right back, stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry. 

"You must be John," Mary said with an amused giggle. 

"Aww, you talk about me a lot, Arthur?" John asked. 

"Shut up, John," Arthur replied, not putting as much bite behind it as he'd wanted to. 

"Play nice, kids," Hosea said, and he too made his way over to them, shook Mary's hand as well. "Hosea Matthews." He introduced himself. "That's my wife, Bessie." He said next, gesturing over to Bessie, who gave a warm smile and waved. Mary waved back. Miss Grimshaw sat in the corner with her arms crossed, not looking at Mary nastily, per-se, but definitely not very friendly-like, either. Mary didn't seem to notice. 

"I'm guessing you two are his mentors?" Mary asked, looking between Dutch and Hosea. 

"That's us, alright," Dutch replied. "And what a fine job we did, huh?" 

"I'm inclined to agree." She said.

"Truthfully, we probably could have done better." Dutch mused, and Arthur heaved a sigh. 

"Really? I been in the door two minutes, you're already makin' fun of me."

"You just make it  _ so _ easy," Dutch replied with a devilish grin. 

"And how do I do a thing like that?"

"That's what we'd like to know." Hosea quipped. The pair of them laughed. 

"Hosea and Dutch are more comedians than outlaws," Arthur told Mary. She had a mix of confusion and amusement on her face, and honestly, being around Hosea and Dutch as long as he had, Arthur could relate. 

"Definitely a curious couple of gents." She said as Hosea and Dutch continued on between themselves with witty remarks that no one but the pair of them was listening to. They didn't seem bothered by that whatsoever. Arthur reckoned the rest of the world could freeze in time, and if Dutch and Hosea were the only ones unaffected, they'd be fine continuing on, just the two of them. 

"Won't you come join us at the table, Miss Gillis?" Dutch asked as soon as he and Hosea were done chortling to themselves at Arthur's expense; for the moment, anyway. 

"I'd be glad to," Mary said, and she and Arthur took a seat at the table. Miss Grimshaw made some excuse about having some mending to attend to before leaving the room. Thankfully, Uncle wasn't there, because he'd just make sure Dutch and Hosea embarrassed Arthur more than they were already sure to. He saw it coming from the moment they'd started discussing her meeting them. 

For a while, it was a normal chat. They asked Mary about her interests, books, political and religious beliefs, and Arthur was astounded to find out how many viewpoints Mary shared with them. Maybe this would work out well after all. 

There'd been that thought in his head for about a week now that if Mary didn't like them, or the other way 'round, and Arthur was really serious about marrying her, that he may just have to leave Dutch and Hosea's sides. Even before Mary, and John, Arthur'd had the thought of leaving several times. Sometimes jokingly, other times not. 

_ Is it okay to hurt some to save others? _ That question had stewed in his head, unanswered, for years now. It had kept him up, left him unable to eat or think, and made him consider leaving a lot of times. 

Not to mention the bullshit. There was a lot of bullshit that came with this way they lived, and it made Arthur constantly question if he really should be there, if he really should still be an outlaw when all the signs pointed to no. 

Regardless, he digressed. 

"How'd you two kids meet, anyhow?" Dutch had asked at one point as he held a cigar between his fingers, unlit, mostly there for show. "Arthur ain't exactly a very social butterfly."

"We were both walking down the street, neither of us looking where we were going, and ended up literally bumping into each other." Mary recounted as she slipped her hand into Arthur's under the table. Like always, he felt his pulse quicken, hoped his hand didn't sweat too much. 

"Definitely sounds like something Arthur'd do," Hosea said. 

"Do I hear wedding bells in the future, perchance?" Dutch asked. 

"Why are y'all so obsessed with the idea of us gettin' hitched?" Arthur asked, both him and Mary's faces red with embarrassment. "It's been eight months. Way too early to say."

"You told me you wanted to marry her." John chimed in. 

"Shut up, John."

"Hosea, Arthur's being mean!"

"Don't be like that, Arthur." Hosea scolded gently. 

"He started it!" Arthur said, offended. 

"You ain't gonna go and break his heart, are you, miss?" Dutch asked with a bit of a protective tone in his voice. 

"I surely hope not," Mary replied. "It certainly isn't my intention to do so."

"You love him, yeah?"

Mary and Arthur exchanged a glance. In the eight months they'd been together, they'd used the word 'love' very lightly, and only ever a few times here and there. Didn't wanna go using such a strong word without the feelings to back it up, Arthur supposed. "Yes, I do." She finally said. Once more, Arthur wished he could kiss her, but he most certainly didn't want the first one to be in front of his family. They'd probably only see it as a reason to tease him more. 

"That's good," Dutch replied with a smile. "I like to think of the young man as a son, so naturally, I only want the best for him. He deserves that much, don't you think?"

"I agree, wholeheartedly," Mary answered. She gave Arthur's hand a squeeze under the table. All things considered, this was going well. 

The group of them laughed and talked for hours. Bessie and Mary especially hit it off, dominating a good deal of the conversation; none of the rest minded. Arthur would be happy listening to Mary go on eternally, and the rest of their group had never had any issue when Bessie took over a conversation because she was just as pleasant. Dutch and Hosea told Mary stories from the first few years Arthur had been with them, embarrassing the youngest outlaw to no end. It was worth it, though, to hear Mary's wonderful laughter. Arthur wished things could have stayed like that forever.

Unfortunately, sometime past midnight, John yawned. Hosea checked his pocket watch as soon as he did, and his eyes widened. "Damn, quarter til one in the morning. Time flies, don't it?"

"It's been a delight meeting you, Miss Gillis, but unfortunately, Arthur needs to take you home now," Dutch said. "The boy has nightmares and can't sleep without him there."

"I understand," Mary replied. She and Arthur stood. "It's been wonderful meeting all of you, as well."

"Do come back sometime soon," Bessie told her with a smile. "We'd love to get to know you better."

"I'd love to get to know you all better, as well," Mary replied, smiling back. 

"I'll be back in about half an hour, then, I guess," Arthur said. John looked half ready to fall asleep right there. 

A few more farewells were said before Mary and Arthur left. They mounted up Boadicea and rode towards Gillis Manor. Arthur stopped Bo just down the block from her house, not feeling it wise to go anywhere near there, after what'd happened earlier. 

"I had a wonderful time with you today, Arthur," Mary said after Arthur had helped her down from Boadicea's back. 

"I always have a wonderful time with you," Arthur replied sincerely, hands on her waist as he pulled her closer to him. 

"Does your face still hurt?" She asked, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her hand. Arthur leaned into it. 

"No, ain't the first time I've had my nose broke." He told her, heart skipping wildly in his chest. "And anyway, it was worth it, to see you."

The smile Mary gave him made his heart beat even faster, brain turning to mush once again. "So… You told John you wanted to marry me?"

He felt his face burn hot, suddenly even more flustered than he'd already been. "I- well- um… m-maybe…?" She laughed. "I mean, we only been goin' together for eight months now, but, um, uh…"

"I might just say yes if you did ask," Mary said coyly. Arthur's heart was running about as fast as Bo could across the open plains.

"Um, well, ah, th-thank you." He chuckled nervously.  _ Oh, you hopeless fool.  _

Mary giggled at him stumbling over his tongue some more, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I think  _ Mary Morgan _ has a nice ring to it, don't you?"

"Sounds real pretty…" He had to agree with her. 

For the longest, most wonderful moment, their eyes held each other's, hers glinting in the moonlight overhead. Thinking back on that time freezing thing from earlier, Arthur desperately wished it would then, leaving only him and Mary in the big open world. Oh, the places they could go, without him having to worry about pulling jobs or running from the law; her, not having to worry about her father, and whatever potential consequences there could be, for being with him. 

Mary's eyes darted away shyly for a second or two, biting her lip as Arthur could see the gears turn in her head. He was about to ask her what she was thinking, but in a moment his mouth was too busy for speaking, as she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. 

Arthur just about jumped out of his skin at first, startled. He could feel the pounding of her heart in her chest against his own, the warmth of her lips. He didn't try to, but his eyes fluttered close as he kissed her back. There weren't words to really describe it, how he felt right then. A couple really positive ones came to mind, but his head was swimming too much to form any kind of cohesive thought. Arthur was fine with that, spent too much time thinking, anyway, so he decided to just enjoy it. And oh, did he enjoy it. Well, enjoy was too tame of a word to say just how deeply overjoyed he was, but again, brain mush, couldn't think, didn't wanna think. 

She pulled away a lot sooner than he would have liked as his heart stuttered all over the place, too dumb with happy to think of anything to say so he just stared at her. 

"Goodnight, Arthur." She said. 

"Goodnight, Mary." He replied back, surprised he could get his voice to work with him. Mary took a few steps back, and Arthur released his hold on her. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." She added, a grin on those beautiful lips of hers that had made Arthur feel like the only man alive just mere seconds ago. "You know the place."

He just nodded a little, his brain too drunk with bubbly joy to be able to form words. Mary waved a little to him before turning on her heel and walking home. Arthur stood there and watched her until she disappeared through the door of the manor. 

So,  _ that _ was kissing. 

Huh. 

His face burned hotter every second he stood there and he raised his fingers to his lips, a ghost of the feeling of hers still there. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur was still soaring with happiness when he got back to the hotel. He walked into the back room and closed the door behind him softly, leaning against it. Dutch wasn't in the room, nor was Bessie, must have both gone to bed. Hosea was sitting reading a book as John slept curled up on the floor in the corner with Copper next to him.

"... thur. Arthur. Helloooo. Son." Arthur hadn't registered the older man's voice at first, shook his head in an attempt to clear it. It didn't really work. 

"Ain't she just wonderful, Hosea?" The younger outlaw gushed without really meaning to. 

"She seems like a very nice young lady." Hosea agreed. He looked at Arthur curiously for a moment before smirking. "She kissed you, didn't she?"

"I ain't never felt nothin' more perfect than that," Arthur said dreamily in way of confirmation. "No wonder, you and Bessie do it so much."

"Was that your first?"

"Yeah." 

"You ain't gonna forget it any time soon, that's for sure," Hosea replied with a chuckle. 

"No, definitely not." Arthur agreed. "Right before, she said… She said she'd likely say yes. If I asked her to marry me."

"You gonna?"

"... Maybe."

Hosea chuckled once again, diverting his attention back to his book. "Take John up to bed, would you, please?" He said a moment later. "Boy's a heavy sleeper, should be no problem."

Arthur nodded, walking over to John's sleeping form. Copper stirred as he picked the boy up, and Arthur gave a few clicks to tell the dog to follow. Hosea followed him out of the room and closed the door behind them after he closed his book, likely heading to bed himself. John weighed practically nothing, so carrying him up the stairs was pretty easy. Hosea opened the door to their room, as Arthur's hands were full. "Goodnight, son, sleep well."

"Oh, I will," Arthur said, sure of that fact. "Goodnight, Hosea."

Arthur carried John into their room and Hosea closed the door. Crossing the room, Arthur gently laid the boy down on his side of the bed. He pulled the covers up over him, and then sat on his side, and took his journal out. 

_ MARY KISSED ME. ♡ _

_ I ain't got words to describe how it felt besides wonderful, nice, great, superb- just about any good word, really.  _

_ Her daddy broke my nose, but I'd reckon I  _ _ definitely _ _ drew the larger straw today.  _

_ It happened when I took her home after she met the family (after her daddy broke my face). John let slip that I'd told him I wanted to wed her. Right before she kissed me, she said she'd likely say  _ _ yes _ _ if I asked her to marry me.  _

_ And then she kissed me, and I  _ _ still ain't over it _ _ , because I've never felt  _ _ anything _ _ better in the world. I'd like to personally shake the hand of whoever came up with the concept of pressing your lips against someone else's. Whoever it was, they deserve a  _ _ medal _ _ , far as I'm concerned.  _

_ She makes me the happiest man alive, and I hope I can make her the happiest woman, someday.  _

With not much else to say without repeating himself, Arthur closed his journal and put it away. He took his boots, satchel, and gun belt off before laying down next to John and pulling the covers back up over them. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	26. Survival, For Beginners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, John, and Hosea get out of Chicago. John learns some stuff about survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: is this chapter necessary to the plot?? Or is it just fluff??? Maybe both.   
Also me: no it's totally necessary to the narrative, John needs to learn to survive. The fact that it's also fluff is just a bonus. 
> 
> Also, my dad and his new girlfriend started reading this fic yesterday, so here's a note for them when they get this far: hi, dad, hi dad's lady friend, thank you for reading, it's very much appreciated! <3
> 
> And here's for the rest of you wonderful people: I love you cowbros, too! Please enjoy the extra long chapter! <3

The last of summer was fading, and they were still in goddamn Chicago. Arthur could feel the changing season, could smell it on the wind. Soon, the leaves on the trees would burn with bright reds, yellows, and oranges, the sun would lose its warmth in that way it always did, and would set much earlier in the day. Then, the leaves would make their way from the trees to the ground, the days would get even shorter still, and snow would start to fall. Which meant they were gonna be stuck there at least until spring now. 

Arthur still hated Chicago with every fiber in his being. Too noisy, too crowded, too hectic. He hadn't been camping since John showed up in May, and there was beginning to be this itch under his skin. Every time he stepped outside, he was disappointed to find cobblestone streets and towering buildings, much as he expected it at this point. The frustration of it all was slowly growing into a burning, bubbling anger, and if he didn't get out of this cesspool called Chicago soon, he was going to snap, and it wouldn't be pretty. 

Hosea didn't seem to be fond of being cooped up like this, either. He hadn't really been the entire time, but maybe, like Arthur, the older man could tell that they'd soon be even more trapped. Having Bessie there was nice, and Hosea was still obviously very pleased about her presence, but he needed the outside, too, needed sprawling fields and forests just as badly as Arthur did. They'd both taken to pacing and fidgeting, never sure what to do with themselves when they weren't on a job. 

Dutch was unbothered, as was Susan. Dutch didn't care where they were staying, so long as the law didn't have eyes on them, and Susan  _ preferred _ the hotel. Even now, she still complained about the many disadvantages of sleeping outdoors, like the wind, the rain, the effort needed to keep things running, the dirt. Arthur, frankly, missed at least most of those things, and more. Sure, he didn't wanna stay out there once it became winter, would prefer the hotel then, too, but still only by so much. 

It felt like a cage, Chicago. Even though Arthur knew he could hop on Bo's back and leave at any time, he still felt trapped; especially considering he couldn't stay away very long since John needed him there. The nightmares had slowed down during the past three and a half months but still hadn't stopped entirely (likely never would, Arthur still got bad dreams himself every now and then, and he vaguely recalled Hosea saying he had them sometimes, too). 

On top of that, the boy was  _ still _ skinny as a twig, had gained only the tiniest amount of weight, which Arthur couldn't even begin to fathom because he swore every time he turned around, Miss Grimshaw was forcing food down the boy's throat. So, John still didn't have any meat on him, which meant he didn't produce body heat, so he still shook like a leaf if Arthur wasn't there to keep him warm. Hadn't been too many times that happened like that, Arthur could only remember spending one night away since the kid got there. 

Without any recent encounters with wildlife to go off of, Arthur struggled to draw. At this point, he was more familiar with towering buildings and cobblestone streets, and he hated it fiercely. There were too many sketches of Chicago in his journal already. He wished that, if they  _ had _ to be stuck surrounded by civilization, that it was  _ at least _ a smaller town. But,  _ no, _ Dutch had set them up in goddamn Chicago, one of the biggest cities in the country. 

He scribbled out the drawing of a rabbit he'd been doing, as it didn't look quite right, having forgotten what rabbits looked like after months of not having to hunt them, or seeing them run around open plains. Usually, the only time he left the city anymore was when he got out with Mary, and he was  _ much _ too preoccupied with her to look at rabbits. That, or when they were out on a job, and then he was too preoccupied with the thought of how bullets could start flying in their direction at any moment. Either way, wasn't exactly focused on rabbits. 

Arthur wondered how Mary was doing. It'd been nearly a week since he'd seen her last. Her father was cracking down extra hard, had one of the maids keep an eye on her at all times. It was getting harder for her to escape, much like it was for him. Arthur still showed up at the coffeehouse at noon every day he could. 

Today was not one of those days. He needed out. Arthur shut his journal and shoved it in his satchel, turning in his seat to face Hosea, who was reading a book. "Hey, Hosea, you wanna go camping?"

Hosea stuck his thumb between the pages of the book. "What about the boy?" He asked like Arthur kinda knew he would. 

"Hell, we could bring him with us. 'Bout time he started learnin' some of that stuff, anyway."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." The older man replied. "Alright, then, yeah, let's go camping. Susan's up in you and John's room working on the boy's writing lessons, cuz Dutch is at the saloon, hitting on women."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "'Course he is. He's awake, ain't he? If he ain't sleepin', he's making plans to rob, currently robbing, or drinkin' and tryin' to bed working girls."

Hosea chuckled heartily as he looked at his book again, likely trying to mark which page he was on before he closed it. "You're not wrong."

They left the room, Hosea went to his room to tell Bessie and pack, Arthur went to his and John's to get the boy and himself ready. He walked in and John was there, sitting at the small makeshift desk they'd set up in the corner for him. "Come on, John, it's not that hard," Susan said as she stood over him. 

John huffed. "Yeah it is, I ain't never gonna get the hang of this. I can still barely read."

"Miss Grimshaw," Arthur spoke up. 

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Me an' Hosea are stealin' John for a camping trip."

John's eyes lit up, and the boy bounced in his seat. "I don't gotta write no more?"

"Nope, get your stuff packed, we're leavin' soon."

John scrambled wildly to his feet as he started digging through dressers for his stuff. Miss Grimshaw shook her head fondly as she exited the room. Arthur also started gathering what he'd need, and let John know what he would as well; change of clothes, jacket if it got extra cold at night, and his water canteen, among a few other things. The boy packed as much stuff into his satchel as he could, holding his folded up clothes in his arms that he likely planned on putting in his pony's saddlebags. 

Oh, yeah, they got him a pony, just a few days ago, even. He picked up riding a lot faster than Arthur had, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. Of course, no one was asking, so he wasn't about to go offering that information freely. John named his pony, Boy. Simple name for a simple kid. Arthur didn't have the heart to tell John he would eventually be too big for Boy (if the kid ever grew, at this rate maybe not) and that they'd have to sell him back to a stable, where Boy would eventually get bought and given a new owner. 

"Why you call my horse Boah?" John asked at one point. 

Arthur shoved more stuff into his satchel. "Ain't a horse, it's a pony."

"Which is just a baby horse."

"No, baby horses are called foals." Arthur corrected. "Ponies are their own breed."

"... Of horse." John said slowly like  _ Arthur _ was the dumb one here. Technically, he weren't entirely wrong, but not entirely right, either. 

"Well, they're called ponies cuz they ain't horses. Otherwise, people would call them horses."

John shrugged. "I guess that's true." He mused. "Anyway, you never answered my question, why you call him Boah?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say it."

"Boy?"

"There it is again!" John exclaimed. "Must be that drawl of yours. Why you talk like that, anyhow?"

"Why do you talk so much?"

"I dunno."

"If I had to hazard a guess, I'd suppose it's because this is how my father talked."

John made a face. "Thought you was from Maryland?"

"I am. Maybe he lived in the south at some point and picked it up. I don't know. I didn't ask. I tried to avoid him, much as I could."

"Oh," John said. "Right."

"Get outta here and go put your stuff on Boy, we're burnin' daylight." John giggled. "And stop laughin' at my voice, ya little asshole."

Not even ten minutes later, Arthur, Hosea, and John were mounted up on their respective steeds. John was so small, even a pony looked to be too big for him. Maybe he'd have Boy for a few years, after all. The three of them rode out of Chicago after telling Bessie and Susan where they'd be, and that they'd be gone for a few days. Arthur and Hosea at the very least had spent way too much time in that goddamn city in that shitty hotel. 

They also brought Copper with, because while browsing the horse tack at one of the stables the other day when Hosea took John to get his pony, Arthur had purchased bigger saddlebags. The first thing he did when they got home was check if the dog would fit in them, and he did. Arthur hadn't been able to bring Copper on rides with him since the dog had started growing, and so Copper usually rode in their wagon whenever they moved with Bessie, and later Susan. Though, Arthur even would have been content with just having more room for his stuff. 

Watching John pick out Boy in the stables was wonderfully nostalgic. Arthur had been big enough for a full-grown horse when Hosea bought him Charlie, but it was still the same concept. Not to mention, it was still Hosea paying out of pocket. Arthur liked to think he'd paid off that nonexistent debt with how many miles he crossed with Charlie, and with all the money he'd helped rake in the past five years. Hosea had never wanted Arthur to pay him back, but the idea of accepting anything from anyone for free was still a weird concept for Arthur. Likely always would be. 

Blessedly, they were soon outside of the city limits and galloping across dirt roads that ran through sprawling fields. The weather was that weird mix of warm and cold it always seemed to be in the middle of September. A gentle breeze blew by, and Arthur inhaled deep, the scent of grass gracing his nostrils. Copper sat happily in the saddlebag with his paws hanging over the edge of it, tongue lolling out. Dogs couldn't smile, but Copper still somehow managed to look like he was. 

John was soaking up the warmth of the sun like a lizard on a rock. He looked around in awe at all the beauty around them. John hadn't really been in nature since they picked him up, had barely even left the hotel, much less Chicago. The one time he left the city since they took him in was that fishing trip Arthur brought him on. When John was last properly outdoors, he was defenseless to the plethora of things trying to kill him; wolves, bears, cougars, possibly, if they were in this area. Arthur supposed the animals would still chew John up and spit him out, given the chance, but predators were less likely to attack a group of people than they were an individual. Worst came to worst, Arthur planned on carrying his shotgun with him, and he could see Hosea's sticking out of Onyx's saddle, too. Likely, it wouldn't be necessary. Animals typically stayed away from fire, too, and they were obviously gonna have one of those going. 

Birds chirped pleasantly, and a woodpecker somewhere in the distance rapidly rapped its beak against a tree. Rabbits and deer ran freely over the plains, startling at the sound of horse hooves approaching. Arthur committed to studying them with a critical eye so he'd be able to sketch them once more, sick of the towering buildings and cobblestone streets that had practically taken over his journal's pages by now. Whatever wasn't a sketch of Chicago was a doodle of Mary's face or whatever dumb thing John had done that day. Wildlife had always been his favorite to draw. 

John sighed happily, tilting his head toward the sky to get the sun's rays on his face. "How come we don't do this more often?"

"Well, we only just got you that pony a few days ago." Hosea reasoned. "And I guess we didn't know if you was ready to be out here again just yet."

"I guess that's fair." John hummed. 

"Been a long year, stuck in that hotel, huh, Hosea?"

"I'm inclined to agree," Hosea said. "Hasn't quite been a year yet, though. We only moved in back in December."

"Feels like a lifetime," Arthur muttered. 

"I'll have to agree with you there, too. It's wonderful, having Bessie with us, but you and I both get cabin fever much too easily."

John looked at Arthur with a quizzical expression, eyebrows furrowed. "Is Bessie usually not there?"

"Nope," Arthur confirmed. "She doesn't like the runnin', so she normally stays a few towns' distance away from wherever we're set up. We sometimes go weeks or months without seeing her. Depends on how much trouble we're getting into at that time."

"Dutch says we're gonna go back to the norm next spring when John's ready to be back out here again for long periods of time," Hosea informed them. "It's likely she'll leave us, then." He added sadly. 

"Well, spring is still a long way off," Arthur said, trying to comfort him. "We usually don't start camping again til at least the middle of April, and we're only in September. That's still another seven or so months."

"True, but seven months can fly by so quickly. Time just seems to move faster, the older you get. And I definitely ain't a pup anymore."

"You ain't old, Hosea." Arthur denied. "You're only turnin' sixty this November."

"That's pretty old, son." 

"Naw," Arthur argued. "I'd reckon you still got another twenty or more years ahead of ya. You take way better care of yourself than any of the rest of us do."

"I don't know, I think I'll be lucky if I get another decade."

"Why are you two always talkin' 'bout such depressing shit?" John chimed in. 

"Watch your language, son." Hosea chastised gently. 

"I guess cuz we're a couple of sad bastards," Arthur replied. 

"Well, why?" John asked next. 

"Life is real difficult, John," Hosea answered. "Some of us get beat down by it a lot easier than others. Doesn't necessarily mean we're miserable all the time, just means a good deal of our perception is pretty grim."

"Kinda hard to stay rosey when you see a load of bullshit," Arthur added. And God, he had seen a  _ ton _ of bullshit. 

"Hey, how come he's allowed to cuss, and I ain't?" John whined. 

"Arthur's an adult, you're a child. He used to get yelled at for it by Susan up until the day he turned eighteen."

"He ain't  _ that _ much older than me."

"Boy, there's ten whole years separatin' us." Arthur corrected him, which brought up a related thought. "When's your birthday, anyhow?"

"January first," John answered. 

"Ah, a New Year's child," Hosea said. "That's pretty rare."

"I guess so," John said with a shrug. 

As soon as they were far enough away to where Chicago's skyline was no longer in view, they halted somewhere in the middle of a field, a river gently flowing next to them, a circle of logs that surrounded a small fire pit. Clearly, this spot had worked well for someone else, so it'd do the job for them. To their right, the plains turned into forest. They dismounted by the river and left the horses untethered so the steeds could get a drink and graze where they pleased. 

Arthur took Copper out of the saddlebag, and the dog started running around. "This seems like a good spot."

"Yeah, real nice." Hosea hummed in agreement. 

"You see on the other side of the river there, where there's that clearing surrounded by trees?" Arthur asked, pointing. "Could be a real nice spot for when all of us are out here again." 

"Good eye, Arthur." Hosea praised. "Got the water source right here, seems to be plenty enough room for our tents and furniture. The trees'll offer some protection from the elements, keep us hidden from sight of any undesirables. I'll mark it on my map and let Dutch know that's where we should settle next April."

Arthur shrugged. "Unless we find a better spot before then." 

Hosea pulled his map out, and true to his word, marked the area on it with a large circle. "Never hurts to have a back-up plan."

"So, what are we gonna do, first?" John asked, rocking back and forth on his feet as he kept well away from the river's edge.

"You know how to make a fire, son?"

"Nuh-uh."

"How exactly did you survive an Illinois winter with no fire?" Arthur asked. 

"Usually, I tried to stay in a barn, or sometimes I found folks who was out there already themselves and asked if I could stay by their fire for the night." John shrugged. "I had a coat, but it got torn up when I was crawlin' away from some angry fellers through a bunch of thorns. That was back in February, I think. Maybe March. Hard to tell the difference."

Hosea began working on unpacking. "Well, you have that jacket Dutch bought you now, we're gonna have a fire, and we'll get you a thicker coat and some other winter gear when the weather starts breaking. Won't have to worry 'bout sleepin' in barns no more."

"Good, hay is itchy," John said. 

After setting up, the three of them wandered into the forest to look for firewood. Hosea picked a log up. "You see all this fungus on the log?" He asked John, pointing to the off-white growths that came from the bark. 

"Yeah."

"Often, that's poisonous. If you burn it, it could contaminate your food. And there's a lot of different types of fungi, so it's hard to distinguish them all apart. Best just to steer clear." The older man threw the rejected wood back to the ground. 

"If it's poisonous, shouldn't you have not touched it?"

"No, it's fine in that state, pretty harmless. It's burning it that's bad. Shouldn't burn pine, either. Its smoke is toxic, as well. You can usually tell it's pine because there'll be sap on the bark, and it smells like a Christmas tree."

"Oh, okay."

Arthur picked up another example of bad wood, showed John the same way Hosea had at pointing out what was wrong with it. "Wood that looks like this is too rotten. Ain't good for burnin', neither."

John nodded intensely, clearly soaking up all the information they were giving him. He picked up a small log himself. "What about this one?"

Hosea shook his head. "That one's too wet. See how parts of it are darker than others? Touch it."

John did just that. "Oh, yeah, it is wet." He threw the log back to the ground. "What about that one?" He asked, pointing. Arthur and Hosea's gaze followed John's finger to the piece of wood in question. 

"Nope," Arthur said. "Too much moss. The vegetation holds moisture, so you can't really burn that, either."

"This is what we're looking for." Hosea said, picking up a dry, 'clean' log. "Think you can find more like this one, John?"

John nodded and ran off. "Stay in sight!" Arthur yelled to him. "Holler if you get into a scrape!"

"Okay!" John yelled back. 

Hosea chuckled as he shook his head. "That boy." 

"What about him? Other than the fact that he's a fool."

"Reminds me a lot of you, when we found ya," Hosea said. 

Arthur frowned. "I wasn't nothin' like that. I was already basically grown when y'all found me."

"Oh, sure you were," Hosea replied dryly. Arthur frowned some more. "You may have thought you was all grown up, but you really were still just a kid, Arthur."

"Not really." Arthur denied. "I was just stupid."

"No, yes, really," Hosea said. "And you weren't stupid. Just still had that childlike wonder and naivete about you. Maybe not as pronounced, but it was there."

Arthur dug his cigarettes out. "Well,  _ that's _ long dead by now." He muttered, sticking a smoke between his lips before digging out his matches. He struck one against his boot and lit the cigarette, breathing in. "I still can't understand how the Hell the boy made it out there at eleven and twelve. I sure as shit wouldn't have."

"Can't say I fully understand, either." Hosea hummed. "From what he's told us, sounds like he had it real rough. Also seems like he had zero survival skills. He must just be real lucky."

"Almost has to be," Arthur said. "He was standin' at death's door when we stumbled upon him. If we hadn't gone that extra mile or so…"

Hosea sighed. "Yeah." 

Arthur took another drag of his cigarette. "Maybe his good luck will balance out my bad luck." He muttered. "I swear, the universe has it out for me, or somethin'."

Hosea shrugged. "Maybe." 

John eventually came running back, arms trembling under the weight of the logs he was carrying. "Good job, son, those look about right." Hosea praised him. John positively beamed at the words. 

Okay, maybe John was still a lot more like Arthur than he'd like to admit. 

Being mean as they were in that way that everyone in their group was (lovingly), Hosea and Arthur made John struggle to carry the logs back to where they'd set camp. John heaved and huffed the entire time, his arms shaking, and Arthur almost wanted to help, but he reasoned that the kid needed to work on his upper body strength, anyway. As soon as they got back to camp, John dropped the logs on the ground and huffed, wiping sweat from his forehead as he stayed hunched over, trying to recompose himself. " _ Thanks, _ guys."

"No problem." Arthur quipped, and John gave him a look. "Hey, you gotta learn to deal with this shit. Me n' Hosea have been doin' this stuff for years. We already got the practice in."

"Hell, I've been doing this stuff since before you kids were even born," Hosea said. He dug through Onyx's saddlebag and pulled out a small hatchet. "And now, comes the fun part. Chopping the wood."

John whined, likely knowing it would fall upon him to do so. "Won't it burn fine like that?"

"Naw, needs to be smaller," Arthur said. "You find some kindling, Hosea, I'll teach him how to use that thing."

Hosea handed him the hatchet. "Will do." And then walked off to find tinder. 

John looked up at Arthur a bit miserably. "This camping shit is a load of work."

"Watch your mouth, or I'll tell Susan to clean it out with soap when we get back." Arthur scolded. "It ain't hard because it's impossible, it's hard cuz you ain't done it."

John huffed again. "Why I even gotta learn if we ain't moving out here til next spring?"

"Because, as I said before, any number of things could happen to where you'd be out here on your own again. You need to learn this stuff so you can live."

"Couldn't y'all just tell me what to do and then I do it when I need to?"

"Don't work like that."

"Fuck."

"Language!" Arthur scolded once more. "Goddamn, boy, even  _ I _ try not to use  _ that _ word, if I can help for it."

"'S just a word," John said. 

"It offends people's delicate sensibilities."

"Well, fu- I mean,  _ screw _ them  _ and _ their 'delicate sensibilities'."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he handed the hatchet to John. "Hold this for a moment. Don't go swingin' it around just yet." The weight of the hatchet made John's arms drop a bit as it was handed to him. 

John frowned as Arthur put a log on a tree stump so that it was standing up. "It's heavy."

"It's about to feel heavier," Arthur said. He took the hatchet from John and motioned for the boy to step back a bit. "You're gonna want to raise it over your head, like this," Arthur instructed, raising the hatchet up high. "Then you're gonna bring it down on the wood. Like this." Arthur brought the hatchet down with speed and force, and the log split in two, the halves falling to the sides. "Now, it's your turn." He handed the hatchet to John again, and once more, the boy struggled under the weight of it. Arthur put a new log on the stump. "Stand back a little. Don't wanna go chopping your toes off. And be careful."

John listened, standing back a bit. He struggled to raise the hatchet over his head but somehow managed before gravity helped him in bringing the hatchet back down on the wood. Without John having the same muscle power Arthur had, it barely even got down to the middle of it. John furrowed his brow as he struggled now with the weight of the log and the hatchet, given the hatchet was stuck into the log pretty good. But, he raised it, smacked the log down on the stump a few more times until it finally split. "I did it!" 

"Yeah, you did," Arthur said. "Now, you got the rest."

"Shit!"

"Watch your damn mouth!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Unlike the fishing trip Arthur had brought the kid on, they actually did need to catch something this time. Arthur suggested hunting, but Hosea said the force of the bowstring would probably be too much for John, especially after all that strain they'd already put the boy through that day. 

And Arthur was  _ really _ starting to think that John was just good luck incarnate because the kid had caught four big largemouths barely twenty minutes in. The fish he caught were even bigger than the ones  _ Hosea _ had gotten, and Hosea was  _ the _ fisherman of their group. 

So, maybe the kid wasn't so dumb after all. Arthur wasn't gonna admit that anytime soon. 

When they got back from fishing, it was mid-afternoon. The sun would set in a few hours. Hosea put the sack of fish under the shade of a tree, where the sun wouldn't spoil them, and then he and Arthur got to work on teaching John to make a fire. "Arthur, you still got that piece of flint?"

Arthur nodded, pulled the flint out of his satchel, and passed it to Hosea. "Here."

"Thanks, son." The older man said. He pulled out his hunting knife. "Okay, John, you see how we have the logs set up in a sort of tee-pee shape?"

"What's a tee-pee?"

"It's a kind of tent the natives live in," Hosea replied. "Either way, you see how it's done?"

"Yeah."

Hosea passed the flint and knife to John. "Here, take these." John took them and looked confused. "See all the tinder we got here? You're gonna want to choose stuff like dead grass, leaves, and twigs."

"Okay."

"Remember, it can't be too wet, or else it won't burn." Arthur chipped in. John nodded in understanding. 

Hosea started putting the tinder into the firepit. "You're gonna want to put all the kindling under the logs, but leave some space for airflow. Like this."

When Hosea pulled away from the pit, Arthur gestured toward it. "Smack the knife against the flint at an angle, towards the pit."

John did as he was told, jumping a bit as a spark flew off the flint and towards the fire pit. "Woah."

"Go on, do it again." Hosea encouraged. 

John listened, jumping every time he brought the knife down on the flint, and sparks went flying. Eventually, the tinder caught. "It's burning, but it ain't fire. What'd I do wrong?"

"Nothing, just gotta give it a helping hand," Arthur replied. He leaned down and cupped his hands around his mouth as he blew into the embers. "This sometimes takes a little while." He said between blows. John joined in, copying him, and soon the fire roared to life. 

John gasped and his eyes lit up. "It's a fire!"

Hosea smiled at him. "Indeed, it is. Great work, John." 

When it came near time for supper, Hosea taught John how to take the scales off and the bones out of the fish they'd caught while Arthur sat next to the fire, drawing a stag that he'd seen earlier that day. Lines bloomed under his practiced hand to form big, dark eyes, and majestic antlers that reached towards the Heavens. Arthur felt, at least for the time being, at peace. He listened to the crackling of their fire, the burble of the river, and the last of day's creatures singing their bedtime songs. It all mixed into a wonderful pacifying tune that lulled Arthur into a calmness he didn't experience often these days, always worked up and anxious because of the sounds of angry Chicago folk ringing in his ears all the time. 

He felt like no one in Chicago would ever understand the freeing feelings out here, the serenity of it all. Most of them had probably never even left the city unless it was to go to a different one. The buildings blocked the sky, there were no open spaces, everything crowded together. Everyone was always in a rush, likely just stressing themselves and everyone else around them. A part of him felt bad for them, as most of them would never know the joy of sleeping under the stars like this. Another part of Arthur frankly did not care, because if they didn't, the only ones they'd have to blame would be themselves. 

Chicago currently didn't matter. The issues the city caused Arthur could not reach him out here. 

When the sun set, the night creatures came out to play. Cicadas and crickets chirped, owls hooted, and wolves howled in the distance. The first time one sounded off that night, John scooted on the log to sit closer to Arthur, clinging onto his arm as his eyes bugged out in the direction the noise came from. "Relax, John," Arthur told him. "They ain't gonna come anywhere near us. Not while we got a fire going."

"They're likely timberwolves, anyway. This area ain't known for gray wolves."

"See, timberwolves don't even go after people to start with," Arthur said as John let go of him. "And Hosea and I got our guns. We'll be fine."

At some point, Hosea had brought out a bottle of rum and he and Arthur passed it back and forth. John looked at it puzzled. "What's liquor taste like?"

Arthur gave Hosea a glance. "Should we let him try it?"

"A sip won't do him any harm, I suppose." The older man replied with a shrug. "Just a sip, though, John. And not a word of this to anyone else. Susan, at the very least, would skin all three of us."

Shrugging himself, Arthur passed the bottle to John. John sniffed at the contents and made a face. Then, hesitantly, the boy brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip. He made an even funnier face, and Arthur laughed as John coughed and sputtered. "Ugh, that's gross!" John declared as he wiped his tongue on his shirt. "Stop laughin' at me, jerk!"

Arthur slapped his knee as giggles bubbled from him. "Ahhh, that's funny."

Hosea gave an amused look. "I recall your first experience with alcohol being equally funny."

"No idea what you're talkin' about," Arthur muttered as John handed the bottle back to him and he took a swig. 

"I think your exact words were, 'Jesus, that's rough'."

"Nooo clue whatsoever. You must be makin' stuff up." Arthur continued to feign ignorance. 

"Right after you spluttered, like the boy just did." Hosea continued anyway. John was giggling beside him, and Arthur pushed him gently. 

"Couldn't have ignored that fact, had to tell the kid, right?" 

Hosea shrugged with a smug smile. "Seems only fair, since you were over there laughing at him."

John picked his canteen up and took a few large gulps from it. "That was nasty." He said as water dribbled down his chin. "Why do y'all drink, anyway?"

Arthur scoffed. "To get drunk, duh."

" _ Nooo, _ " John replied sarcastically, adding a fake gasp in there too. "I  _ never _ woulda figured that out."

"Shut up, John."

"Play nice, boys." Hosea chided them. 

Admittedly, teaching John a campfire song wasn't necessary for survival, but they still did, anyway. The one that wasn't profane, anyway. The only actually clean one was  _ Rye Whiskey, _ and Arthur felt it as he and Hosea sang the part that went:  _ her parents, they don't like me, they say I'm too poor, they say I'm unworthy to enter her door. _ Reminded him of Mary. Arthur hoped she didn't show at the coffeehouse while he was out here. 

Eventually, it was time for bed. Hosea went into his own tent, and John squeezed into Arthur's with them. The brothers took their boots off and set them at the bottom of the tent, and then they laid down, John drawing his jacket around himself tightly as he snuggled up to Arthur. "It's cold out here."

"Yeah, night time has a tendency to be cold."

"You're real mean, Arthur," John replied. "You know that?"

"Yeah," Arthur said. "I'm aware." He drew John closer. "Go to sleep, John."

John yawned as he nuzzled into Arthur's chest, wrapping his small arms around the older man. "Night, Arthur."

"Goodnight, John."

Within a few minutes, John's breathing had evened out. Arthur waited until the boy was asleep to close his own eyes, and he soon fell asleep, as well.


	27. Careful Not To Work Yourself To Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a goal, one that requires him to just about kill himself to achieve. He also reflects on the many what-ifs his life may hold for him in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAA THANKS FOR 2000 HITS, COWBROS! I LOVE Y'ALL!! <3

Arthur had been miserably tired for the past two, three weeks, or more. It was hard to tell just quite when the last time he had decent sleep was.

He'd been doing more than ever, finding his own marks, pulling his own solo jobs. Normally, he tried avoiding that, since Hosea and Dutch had drilled into him from early on that going it alone was a bad idea. But, Arthur was careful, patient, alert, effective, and he had a goal. One that would not likely be achieved with only Hosea and Dutch's schemes. He still made sure to share a good deal of his takes with the group, but other than that, Arthur was working his ass off for purely selfish reasons. 

He wanted to buy a ring for Mary and propose to her. It'd been about a year now, and despite all the hang-ups and setbacks, their relationship had flourished, making Arthur more sure than ever that she was definitely  _ the one. _ But he didn't wanna skimp out, nor did he want to steal a ring to propose to her with, because neither of those things would feel right. It had to be an expensive ring (or, at least, he thought it should be), and he had to make the money himself, otherwise, it would dampen any significance. 

Of course, he had no idea if stealing the money for it would make it mean less, but considering just how overworked he felt, Arthur thought maybe that was still fine. It wasn't like robbing folk was easy; he was convinced he was  _ definitely _ still earning it, even if illegally so. 

He'd had a couple things slow him down. Christmas came, and with a kid there, they all made a big deal out of it, despite the fact that the holiday had never really meant shit to any of them- Arthur included- before John was in their lives. So, Arthur had to spend some of his hard-earned cash on getting presents for everyone, which unfortunately included Uncle because Dutch insisted no one was allowed to leave anyone out. He ended up spending an arm and a leg on John's gifts, just to have to buy him more a week later when the boy's birthday rolled around. 

John wasn't really any easier to deal with at thirteen than he had been at twelve. Ever since the camping trip they had back in September, John seemed to have figured out just how much he missed the outside in those few days. He'd taken to bouncing off the walls more than usual, and watching it the past few weeks was not doing any wonders for Arthur's fatigue. 

Arthur would get up and at it by the crack of dawn every day before the sun had even started to rise. He'd get dressed and ready for the day if he could muster the energy, and if he couldn't, he'd just stay in the same clothes he'd worn the day(s) before. He would ride to one of the next towns over, and by the time he'd get there, it'd be nearing or just after seven in the morning. 

He'd sit at the saloon, subtly pick-pocket a few fools whilst listening in for anything that'd give him a good mark. Once he found something, he'd leave, take care of it, before going right back. If he didn't find anything, he'd rob one of the local stores, almost always having to escape via horse and deadly headshots. Arthur made sure to keep his identity hidden under a bandana or scarf, and that he was wearing something else when he'd come strolling back in an hour or two later to repeat the cycle of torture he was putting himself through. 

All day long, every day, for the past three or so weeks. He'd only seen Mary three times since falling into this routine, and it was clear to Arthur just how miserable not seeing each other had made the both of them. Whenever Arthur had dropped her off down the block from her house, she'd linger with him a few more minutes before regretfully going home. 

On top of the sleep deprivation, and the loneliness, there were a few other factors that tied into just how exhausted and spent up Arthur felt. He hadn't been eating right, frequently forgetting or not caring to bother when he finally did remember. Well, not so much remember, as it was his stomach yelling at him,  _ hey, you stupid sack of shit, you need food, you're starving. Feed yourself, idiot. You need to eat something, dumbass. _ He rarely listened. 

And the cherry on top of the shit-cupcake that was currently his life was the fact that he'd stumble in the door around ten, pass out for a few hours before John would end up having a nightmare. As always, he didn't ask, and John didn't offer up the information on what the bad dreams were about. John would eventually get back to sleep, but Arthur would struggle or fail to do so, thoughts swirling around his head making it near impossible. 

What if Mary didn't want to wed him? What if something had happened since those few months ago she said she would, that Arthur hadn't picked up on, and might have made Mary change her mind? What if her daddy were to forbid it, she listened, and it was all for nothing? What if he died while trying to procure the money for an engagement ring? What if something happened to her, and he wasn't around to do anything about it because he was too busy working towards their potential hopeful future together? 

What if everything else went well, but she or Dutch tried to make him choose between being a husband, or an outlaw? How  _ could _ Arthur even choose between those two options? He loved Mary dearly, he surely did, or he wouldn't be risking his neck and overall well-being the way he had been. But he loved Dutch, Hosea, Bessie, Susan, John, and even kind of Uncle, too, believed ferociously in the concept of an ideal America that Dutch had instilled in him. If anyone tried to make him choose between his family, the life they shared together, or true love, his heart would be torn in two directions. Arthur wasn't sure which choice would make him happier in the long run, nor was he certain how he could even  _ begin _ to navigate those complicated feelings. 

On the one hand, if he ran away with Mary, they could move far away, maybe somewhere west, where Arthur could start over, not having to worry about his egregious acts following them. But there were a million forces at play here. What if they never made it far enough away from his sins? What if the relationship failed, and Arthur went crawling back to the group, just to be rejected for treason and abandonment? 

On the other hand, if he stayed with his family, and Mary wasn't okay with that, then he would maybe never get to know the joy of being a husband or a father. Admittedly, Arthur thought a lot about the latter since John came around. Which, that was confusing in and of itself, because what made him think he would ever be a good father? The closest thing to a good father he'd ever known were Dutch and Hosea, and even they fell short in some places. He certainly couldn't look to Lyle for scraps of fatherhood wisdom; man's dead, and he didn't know what the Hell he'd been doing, either. That, or just didn't care. 

_ Move off the kid thing. You're thinking too far ahead, dummy. Mary still might say no. And if she does, you ain't even gonna find another woman half as good as her any time soon.  _

Needless to say, the whole situation was conflicting and confusing in the worst of ways, and the strain he was putting himself through didn't help matters any. 

"...ur. Arthur. Son."

Arthur blinked a few times back into alertness and reality, looking toward Hosea.  "Yeah?"

"You zoned out. Did you hear any of what we just said?"

Looking around, Arthur remembered where they were and what they were doing. They were on a job. Now wasn't the time to be letting his mind wander.  "Uh… No." He admitted sheepishly. 

Dutch gestured toward the house they were staking out through the barren trees.  "We're doin' a little ol' fashioned interrogation today. We're gonna go 'round the front, you're gonna be the strong arm while me and Hosea stand back and look threatening."

Arthur sighed tiredly.  "Why do I  _ always _ have to be the strong arm?"

"You've got the quickest and hardest punches, and Hosea and I look more intimidating with a gun," Dutch replied, tone condescending, as always. The only person he didn't talk to like that these days was John. Kid was just starting to be able to write in full sentences and read pretty fluently, blooming like a late spring flower under Dutch's mentorship. 'Dutch's Golden Boy', Arthur had started to call him, and it annoyed John to no end. 

Hosea pulled his scarf over his face, then picked up his rifle.  "Masks up, let's do this."

Dutch chuckled a little, clearly admiring Hosea's 'go-get-'em' attitude for the billionth time. He pulled a bandana over his face and picked up his shotgun.  "I love your style, brother."

"Thank you very much," Hosea said, and even under the scarf, Arthur could tell he was smiling. 

_ These two, I swear, _ Arthur thought as he pulled his own scarf over his face. Then, they started walking towards the house. 

The trio walked through the barren trees and soon emerged from the winter-dead forest. Their mark sat there on the porch of a modest enough looking homestead, and upon seeing the three bandits he started to his feet.  "Hey! What the Hell do you three think you're doin' here?"

"Hello, sir," Dutch spoke up as they kept approaching.  "I heard you recently acquired a handsome inheritance, one that only adds on to what you already have. My friends and I have come to relieve you of it, so we may share it with those who are far poorer."

"Get outta here, you sons of bitches, or I'll-"

Their target didn't get to finish his sentence as Arthur pulled him off the porch and threw him to the ground. The man groaned in pain, especially worse when Arthur stepped on his back.  "Tell us where you keep the money, or else."

"Go to Hell!" The man gritted out from under Arthur's foot. Arthur didn't have the patience for this, all he wanted was to get the score, go home, and pass out.  _ Eat something, too, stupid, _ his stomach reminded him.  _ Maybe.  _

Arthur picked the feller up by the collar of his coat, forced him to his knees, wrapped a hand around his throat as he curled the other one into a raised fist.  "Stop wastin' our time, or I'll break every goddamn bone in your body."

"I'd like to see you try!" The man yelled, and Arthur felt his rage bubble more.  _ Well, he asked for it. _ He grabbed ahold of the man's arm swiftly, roughly twisting it beyond the human body's capability. Their target's yowls of agony sounded akin to how rabbits did as they died; accompanied by the  _ wonderful _ sound of snapping bones that  _ totally _ didn't sometimes repeat in Arthur's head these days as he was trying to go to bed. 

"Where's the goddamn money?" Arthur growled. 

"O-okay! Okay!" The man sobbed.  "In the basement, i-in a red lockbox, on the worktable!"

Arthur dropped the man's broken arm harshly, causing him to sob some more, then he grabbed the feller by the collar again, slammed his head into the porch, knocking the man out.  "Very nice work, Mr. Morgan," Dutch said, the pride on his face hidden, but in his voice, not so much. 

"Stellar performance, son." Hosea praised next, and he gave Arthur a hearty pat on the back. He stumbled a little, suddenly lightheaded.  "Woah, you okay there?"

"Yeah," Arthur said, leaning against the porch for a moment.  "Just, had a long night, is all."

That wasn't a lie. John had woken around one from a nightmare, stayed up til three, and then Arthur had gotten back up at around six. That was just about every night the past week in a row. 

"Have a sit-down, son, make sure no one stumbles upon us. You've more than earned your share already." Hosea encouraged him, and Arthur decided that sounded like the most wonderful idea in the world right about now. 

_ Inching ever closer to being able to afford that ring, _ he reminded himself as he sat on the porch, while Hosea and Dutch went in to loot.  _ It'll all be worth it, soon, I only need a little more.  _

His mentors returned shortly with satchels full of riches and a jovial mood.  "Oh, boy, what a take!" Dutch celebrated with a laugh. Arthur stood back to his feet and they began the short walk through dead trees to their horses. 

"Imagine all that we can do with this," Hosea said in way of agreeing. 

"I loathe that Colm and Patrick O'Driscoll, but I love wherever they get their tip-offs from."

"Patrick is especially vile," Hosea said as he slung his rifle over his back.  "Colm's at least passive about how big a piece of shit he is. Patrick goes outta his way to let the world know he's an ass."

"Nothing would give me greater joy than to see the bastards die," Dutch replied as the three thieves reached their steeds and mounted up.  "They're both gonna get a bullet or a noose at some point. For now, though, ain't no harm in stayin' in cahoots with them."

The world was spinning and his vision swimming as Arthur got up on Boadicea. He stroked her mane to steady himself, and to hide his disorientation from his mentors.  _ We'll be home soon enough. _

The trio spurred their horses into a gallop.  "I don't know, brother, I got a bad feelin' about them,"  Hosea said nervously.

"Relax, Hosea, have some faith, will you? Even if the bastards were to try anything, we far outnumber them. We got you, me, Arthur, Susan, Bessie, Uncle, and soon, we'll start teaching John how to handle a gun. There's only two of them. What's the worst that could happen?"

Arthur snorted.  "Uncle wouldn't get caught in a firefight, he'd run the other way."

"Ain't it a bit early to be thinking of teaching the boy to shoot?"  Hosea asked, shifting in his saddle uneasily.

Dutch scoffed.  "Certainly not. He's gotta be able to defend himself, it's a part of survival. What if he gets lost and has to fend off a wild beast? He'll be safer with a gun."

"He's only thirteen,"  Hosea said firmly.

"So? We taught Arthur how to shoot at fourteen. I was a kid not too long ago myself, and there ain't much a lick of difference between thirteen and fourteen."

Hosea sighed.  "Well, maybe you're right, it just… Seems too early, I guess."

"We ain't startin' just yet. We're still stuck in that hotel til the weather breaks at the end of April. We can teach him, then."

"Alright, I suppose."

It didn't take too long to get back to Chicago. Arthur swayed on his feet dizzily as he, Hosea, and Dutch hitched their horses outside of the hotel that their family called home for a little over a year now.  _ Need food, idiot, _ his stomach reminded him helpfully. 

Luckily, Miss Grimshaw already had plates ready for them when they walked in the door. Arthur all but inhaled his food, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was as soon as there was sustenance in front of him. John sat next to him eating his own plate the same way, but that was because John always ate like his dinner would disappear if he didn't get to it quickly. 

John looked up at Arthur at one point, creamed corn running down his chin. Susan looked as appalled as she always did at supper time. She probably felt like she was dining with hogs, and Arthur figured she wouldn't be far off.  "Hey, Arthur, can we hang out tomorrow?"  John asked.

"No, sorry, John," Arthur replied regretfully, and John's mood visibly dropped along with his shoulders.  "I'm real busy."

"What have you been runnin' around doin' these past few weeks, anyway?" Dutch asked as he ate. Miss Grimshaw gave them all dirty looks for speaking with their mouths full. 

"Savin' up for somethin'," Arthur muttered simply. He didn't wanna tell anyone just yet he planned on proposing to Mary. 

"That's a rather vague answer." Hosea hummed. Arthur shrugged and didn't divulge any more than what he already had. 

After dinner, Arthur and John went up to bed, and John started his game of million questions like he always did when Arthur came back from another long day of slowly killing himself.  "What you savin' up for, anyway?"

"None of your business."

"Are you close to gettin' whatever it is you're trying to get?"

"I think so."

John scooted close to him. _Little heat leech._ "Why're you always gone when I wake up?"

"Cuz I'm working."

"Why do you always get home so late?"

"Cuz I'm working."

"Why are you workin' so hard?"

"So I can get the thing I want."

"Why don't you ever give me straightforward answers?"

Arthur sighed.  "I already told you, it ain't your business."

John frowned, asked,  "Why ain't it my business?"

Arthur groaned, feeling a headache suddenly coming on. Seemed to be the kid's goal in life, to torture him further.  "Because it ain't. Go to sleep, John." He said with a yawn. 

John was clearly miffed but blessedly didn't keep asking questions. He laid his head on Arthur's chest, and they both closed their eyes.  "G'night, Arthur," John said quietly. 

"Night, John."

It wasn't long after that, sleep finally found him. Arthur had never been a heavy dozer, even when utterly exhausted, so it didn't surprise him to be waking up to John tossing and turning probably not even a few hours later.

Arthur blinked his groggy eyes open and put a hand on John's shoulder.  "John." He called the boy's name as he shook him.  "John, wake up." John scrambled to sit in bed as he always did when he woke from a nightmare. His eyes were wide as his hands flew to his neck, breathing stuttered and panicked.  "Calm down, kid, it was just a bad dream," Arthur said through a yawn. 

Reality seemed to filter in slowly, and John's hands fell away from his neck into his lap as his breathing evened out. He never stayed visibly upset for very long after, nor did he ever wake up crying, and Arthur envied him that. Thirteen-year-old kid had a better grip on his emotions than Arthur would likely ever have. 

John just sat there quietly. Never talked much after waking, either.  "That's every night this week, now,"  Arthur muttered. 

"Sorry," John said.

Arthur scoffed.  "For what? Ain't like you're choosin' to have bad dreams."

John shrugged.  "For bothering you with it, I guess."

"If you gotta bother anyone, might as well be me."

"You got enough goin' on," John said.  "I ain't dumb, I can see you've been working too hard."

"Nah." Arthur denied.  "Could prob'ly work myself like this into my late forties, if I had to."

"That ain't healthy."

Arthur just shrugged a shoulder, leaning against the headboard of the bed as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He decided to change the subject.  "You ever plan on tellin' me what these nightmares are about?" 

John shook his head as he fidgeted with his hands.  "Don't wanna talk about it."

"Fair enough," Arthur mumbled.

"Let's just go back to bed," John said, and Arthur felt it was the best damn idea the kid ever had. 

"Won't hear me arguin'," Arthur said as he laid back down in bed. John shortly followed after him, curling up to Arthur's chest. 

"Arthur?" John said as Arthur pulled the covers back over them again. 

"Yeah?"

"Hope you have the money you need for whatever it is you're tryin' to get, soon." John's sentence trailed off into a yawn, clearly exhausted himself. 

"Thanks, John," Arthur replied with a bit of a smile tugging at his lips. 

John curled himself against Arthur's chest again like the little heat leech he was, and both boys soon fell fast asleep once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, cowbros <3
> 
> Thanks for reading this chapter, sorry it and the last were so slow paced ╮(╯▽╰)╭   
I took a break from updating and writing this story for a few days to do some outlining, and I have roughly the next two and a half years (in timeline) of this fic figured out. Things will probably move forward a bit better from here on out. 
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you haven't already. And a comment would be greatly appreciated, too. (>^ω^<) stay safe and healthy, y'all. <3


	28. Hard Work Pays Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slow chapter, but this one is shorter so it's a bit less of a slog to get through. 
> 
> Sorry for not updating in a while, cowbros! I just got into a relationship a few days ago for the first time in about two years, so I've been focusing on that, along with dealing with creative fatigue.

More setbacks had arisen, and this time it was Arthur's own generosity that was killing him. He'd been on his way to the jeweler to buy a ring for Mary, having finally made enough, when he ran into a lady taking donations for the local childrens' home. 

"Even a small donation would help the children a lot. Every little bit counts." She told him with a warm, pleading smile. 

Arthur had wanted to tell her to piss off if only because the orphanage she was collecting for was the one John had run away from. The kids had been assholes to John, how did they even  _ begin _ to deserve Arthur's money? But then he thought about struggling souls, as he always seemed prone to do, and he couldn't stand the thought of not doing something when he was very well able to. So, he donated fifty dollars. The lady thanked him over and over until Arthur tipped his hat to her and kept making his way toward the jeweler. 

Then, another setback. Some poor, blind feller sat on one of the street corners, shaking an empty tin cup. His clothes hung off him in tattered rags, and he looked like he hadn't had a proper bite to eat in days. Arthur tossed twenty dollars into his cup. The blind man heard the tin was no longer empty, grinned unseeingly up at Arthur, thanked him profusely, and Arthur once more kept walking to the jeweler. 

Then, because the universe hated him and there was an unwritten rule of misfortune happening in threes, some kid tried (and failed) to steal his satchel. He had half a mind to pick the brat up by the collar and drag him to the police station, but the boy looked a lot like John; dark, wild eyes, scraggly black hair that hid a lot of his dirty, bruised face, and thinner than a toothpick. Arthur had never been able to stand suffering, whether it be his own or others'. So, he gave the kid ten bucks, told him to scram, and to pick his marks better. 

When Arthur finally got to the jeweler, he was exactly seventy dollars short of the ring he'd wanted to buy for Mary. 

Seventy dollars wasn't chicken feed. Arthur had to work just about all day long to make that kind of money, would almost never see that kind of take from any job that Hosea and Dutch pulled because more than half their scores these days were going to local charities. Had been since they started living in Chicago a year back now. Dutch insisted that, in a big city like this, there was bound to be a lot of agony and anguish. More suffering that Arthur couldn't stand. They had to make sacrifices. 

Solo jobs were just as unfruitful. Without a team to back him up, Arthur had to be his own strong arm, lookout, man with the plan, and every other role thieves depended on wrapped into one tired, overworked man. It meant he could only afford to go after smaller targets and do very light pick-pocketing. A lot of the time his leads had ended up being busts, and he was lucky to make a few dollars by the end of it. Which is why it had taken a month to get the money he needed for the ring. 

The ring he'd wanted to buy for Mary was a gold band with a big, gorgeous ruby in the middle of it. And now, he was exactly the seventy bucks he'd given away that morning short. To spite him further, it looked like the ring had gone up in price since he'd last looked at it a week ago, and he noticed even then it was more expensive than the first time he'd seen it. 

Arthur felt his face pull into one of the most dissatisfied frowns he was sure had ever washed over his features. He gave an aggravated sigh. 

"Excuse me, sir?" The clerk behind the counter finally spoke up.  "Can I help you?"

Arthur scoffed as he shoved his hands in his pockets.  "If you can make this ring less expensive, yeah."

The clerk made a face and tsked.  "I'm afraid I can't do that. The company who crafted that piece raised the price, and if I don't raise my prices as well, I won't make any profit."

This man probably had a family to take care of, so of course, Arthur understood. He needed his business to stay afloat to do that.  "'Course."

"Maybe something a little less expensive would fit your budget better?" The jeweler suggested.  "I have another just like that one, but the band is thinner, and the stone is smaller."

Arthur sighed, and shrugged.  "Well, lemme see it, I guess."

"Here it is." The other man said, pulling a display out. One of the ring holders held one just like the piece he'd wanted to buy, but as the jeweler said, the band was thinner, and the ruby couldn't have been much bigger than a pebble. However, it was a little over a hundred dollars cheaper, which meant Arthur would still have a few cents left to his name after all this. 

_ If _ he bought it, that was. He eyed the lackluster ring with uncertainty. Mary probably already owned fancier than this, rich as her family was. 

Maybe he could sell some of his stuff to come up with the rest of the cash? No, that wouldn't work very well. The most expensive thing he had to his name was the gold engraved pocket watch Dutch gave him for his fifteenth birthday. It wouldn't be enough to get the rest of the money he needed, and the timepiece had sentimental value to boot. He was honestly surprised he still had it. 

So, Arthur's choices were either buy the tiny ring or work himself to death for another few weeks until he could afford the bigger one. Its price could rise again by then, too. And anyway, he didn't wanna wait that long, Arthur wanted to propose to Mary  _ preferably _ the next time he saw her. Maybe it was too soon, and he was being a bit impulsive, but everything in him just knew for  _ certain _ she was the woman for him. 

Arthur must have taken too long looking at it and weighing his options because the jeweler spoke up once more.  "You don't seem very sure."

Arthur shook his head.  "No."

"I take it you're purchasing for a very special lady?" The clerk asked, raising a brow curiously. 

"I wanna propose to her," Arthur replied with a resolute nod. 

The jeweler got that same look in his eye most people did when confronted with dumb, young love. Arthur had seen it a million times on Dutch, Hosea, and Bessie.  "In that case, maybe you  _ should _ go for the smaller ring." He said.  "You don't want it to be as nice as the actual wedding ring, that's the one she'll be wearing for the rest of your lives."

Arthur honestly hadn't thought of that.  "Makes sense, I guess."

In the end, Arthur ended up buying the smaller ring, and still had a little money left over. He put it in his inner coat pocket, then made his way toward the coffeehouse. 

~~~~~~~~~

Arthur checked his pocket watch for the tenth or so time since getting there. 

_ 11:59 AM. _

They almost always met at noon, yet there was no sign of her. Had Mr. Gillis gotten in Mary's way of escape again? Did something happen to her? Was he overthinking everything, like he always did? Of course, he was. 

Despite its small size, Arthur could practically feel the weight of the ring in his coat pocket. He'd been waiting to ask her to wed him for months,  _ finally _ had a ring to propose, and Mary was likely stuck at home, being lectured for the billionth time by her godawful daddy. Mr. Gillis was the bane of Arthur's existence, made him even more sure he either had the worst luck in the world, or the universe had it out for him specifically. 

He couldn't even begin to fathom what he'd done to tip her daddy off that he didn't lead an honest existence. The first time Arthur went to meet her family, he'd fixed himself up as nicely as he could, got a shave, a bath, wore his nicest duds. He used the table manners Bessie and Susan had taught him, tried to turn his tongue into silver like Hosea or Dutch did when they spoke to anyone. In the end, Mr. Gillis still hit the nail on the head, somehow figured out that Arthur was a criminal. There wasn't a point trying to convince him otherwise once he did. Arthur had never been a very good liar, a decidedly bad shortcoming for an outlaw to have. 

12:05 PM, still no sign of her. Where was Mary? She was never this late anymore. She was either there, or she wasn't. Arthur kept glancing around the busy city streets, eyes darting to and from faces, trying to see if she was amongst the crowd for several long moments. 

He was just about to call it quits and accept that today just wasn't the day when Arthur finally spotted her. And his brain, of course, waited until that moment to let him know he had no idea what he was doing. 

"Arthur!" She called out, having spotted him as well. Arthur noticed Jaime following shortly behind her, hand intertwined with his older sister's. At the corner, they waited until there was a lull in traffic to walk across the street. 

"Hello, Mary, Jaime." Arthur greeted them. 

Jaime gave him a big smile, and Arthur returned the gesture. "Hi, Arthur." The boy said cheerfully. 

"I apologize for being so late, daddy was being an absolute monster," Mary said tiredly. Mr. Gillis' protests of their relationship had taken a toll on both of them by now. "He finally left me alone, but then he started on Jaime, and…"

"I understand," Arthur replied. Truthfully, he was glad the boy was around if it meant he'd be spared from their father's seemingly ceaseless torment. "You two wanna walk with me back to the hotel so we can hop on Bo and get outta Chicago?"

Mary smiled, a wonderful sight Arthur never got tired of seeing. "That sounds wonderful."

Outside the city, Mary sat on a log and watched while Arthur taught Jaime some more about riding horses. The boy learned fast, listened attentively, and didn't give up easily. Mary watched with a fond, amused smile on her lips the entire time. When they were done, Jaime put small braids in Bo's tail while Arthur sketched Mary from right next to her, ring still in his coat pocket taunting him. They were lucky there hadn't been too much snow recently, even though it was still pretty cold. 

Which meant that they soon had to go back, Arthur took them home, and he cursed himself for not making the money faster so he could have proposed sooner. The short ride home to the hotel felt like a walk of shame. All that build-up for a one hour visit, and he never even took the ring out or even  _ started _ to pose the question. 

_ Oh, what a fool I am, to have thought it that easy. _

Arthur hitched Boadicea outside the hotel as he usually did, fed the mare a few apples and sugar cubes, gave her a few pats. Bo bumped her head against his arm in thanks, a growing habit of hers. "You're a good girl, Bo." He cooed to her, gave her a few more pats and a carrot before walking into the hotel. 

The back room consisted of John, Dutch, and Hosea. Susan and Bessie were likely running errands, and if Arthur had to guess, Uncle was passed out somewhere drunk. "Hey."

John looked up from his writing over to Arthur with a toothy grin. "Heya, Arthur."

Arthur shrugged his coat off and hung it on the chair he sat in next to the kid. Looking over John's shoulder at his writing, Arthur smiled a bit. "You're gettin' a lot better at writing."

"Only cuz I got a great teacher," John said, looking at Dutch. 

Dutch chuckled and gave John a few pats on the back. "You're very welcome, son."

Hosea looked up from the book he'd been reading. "What have you been up to today, Arthur?"

Arthur sighed, and fidgeted with his hands for a moment. Then, he turned in his chair, dug the ring out of his coat pocket, and set it on the table. "Making a fool of myself, I fear." 

All eyes were on the small piece, and then on Arthur. John was the first to speak up. "That what you been killin' yourself over the past month or so?"

"Arthur, you ain't doin' what I think you are, right, son?" Dutch asked. 

"Proposin' to Mary…?" Arthur stated though it sounded more like a question. 

"You can't possibly think she wants to marry you, do you, Arthur?"

Arthur recoiled a bit, feeling like he'd just gotten struck by a snake. "What's  _ that _ supposed to mean?" He asked eyes narrowed at his mentor. 

"I'm with Arthur, where the Hell do you get off saying something like that?" Hosea asked with a frown as he closed his book and crossed his arms. "You saw how sweet that girl was on our boy."

"Felt more like she loved an idea of him, rather than the real him," Dutch muttered as he was grilled. John joined in too, mocking Hosea and Arthur as he puffed his chest out, put his hands on his hips and threw a sour look Dutch's way. "Tell me, Arthur, does she really have any  _ actual _ idea of who you are?"

Arthur stared Dutch down as he answered, confidently as he could, "She knows what I am." 

"But does she accept it?" Dutch inquired next. "Or is she trying to change you, to love a tamed copy instead of the original?"

Arthur thought to the seemingly insignificant tiny arguments he and Mary would sometimes have. They were never more than a few minutes each, sporadically here and there, but she  _ had _ brought up grievances with his lifestyle a few times now. He never really thought of all those instances until now, because Lord knows Dutch knew how to sow doubts, make Arthur question every next step he took.

This is why he still only really trusted Hosea with matters of the heart. Arthur and Dutch were two wildly opposing forces, always had been and Arthur reckoned they always would be. Dutch would find every little thing to pick at, Hosea would actually listen and try to find some kind of conclusion of thought for him. 

"You're stepping too far, friend," Hosea said, calmly warning. "Why is your first instinct always to find fault with anything Arthur does?"

"Yeah?" John asked with some bite, even though he really had no idea what the Hell he was talking about. Arthur appreciated his support nonetheless. 

"I'm  _ trying _ to keep him from getting his heart broken," Dutch said defensively like they were fools for having not figured that out already. "Miss Grimshaw has a wonderful judge of character, and she said she didn't like that Gillis girl one bit, either. Said she had bad news written all over her."

"Miss Grimshaw looked at her for thirty seconds the one time she was here," Arthur argued. 

"Well, I talked to the young lady for much longer than that, and I'm tellin' you she's not good for you." 

"They seemed like a wonderful couple to me," Hosea said, not budging from having Arthur's back as always. 

"She ain't our type of people, brother," Dutch replied. "Miss Gillis is the very embodiment of society, the gilded cage. It's a miracle she ain't gone and told the law on us."

Hosea rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat to face Arthur. "Don't listen to him, son. If this girl really makes you happy, you should go for it."

"She does," Arthur replied surely, saying it more to Dutch than Hosea. 

Dutch gave a sigh and threw his hands up in defeat. "Alright, do whatever you want, Arthur. You're a free man." He said as he stood from his chair. 

"Damn right he is," Hosea grumbled, picking his book back up. 

With the argument over, John dropped the tough guy act, shoulders slumping as Dutch pulled his coat on. "Where ya goin', Dutch?" 

"To the saloon, son," Dutch answered John, reaching down and mussing his hair. "I gotta go meet Colm and Patrick." He said a bit boredly, then added as he switched focus to Hosea and Arthur, "I swear, I'm gonna shoot one or both of those boys myself, one day."

"Leave one of 'em for me." Hosea quipped. 

"Sure thing, brother," Dutch replied with a chuckle as he pulled his gloves on. "Off I go, then."

With a few quick farewells that were really just formalities, Dutch left. John, being free from his writing practice, decided then was the time to get up and go wander around the upstairs of the hotel, leaving just Hosea and Arthur in the back room. 

"I ain't even got the first idea how to ask her," Arthur admitted to Hosea quietly as soon as he heard the stairs creak under John's feet. 

"I'm guessing that's why you brought it up in the first place," Hosea said as he folded his hands in front of him, more engaged in the conversation now that there weren't any distractions, like Dutch's condescension. 

Arthur nodded. "How'd you propose to Bessie?"

Arthur could see the immediate shift of how Hosea held himself, and he knew the man had switched to his story-telling persona. "It was a wonderful night back in the summer of '68. Bessie and I had been going together for about two years then. My acting career was just starting to get off the ground, I barely had enough for a ring but somehow managed."

"Were you nervous?"

"Absolutely terrified," Hosea admitted with a laugh. "Like you, I had no idea what I was doing. I stumbled all over my words like a fool, mentally kicked myself for acting like such a clown. 

"I'd brought her to this beautiful place, though I can't quite remember where it is anymore. There was a huge waterfall that led into the basin of a gorgeous lake. The sun was just starting to set, and the weather was right, so there were seemingly thousands of fireflies."

"Sounds magical," Arthur said, picturing the scene in his head as best he could.

"It was," Hosea confirmed with a smile. "We watched the sun go down, the way the colors of the sky reflected off the water. I can't remember, either, how I finally gathered the courage; but we sat beside the water, watched the fireflies dance, and I asked her to be my wife. I've felt like the luckiest man alive ever since."

Arthur sighed. "Too bad it's winter, and I can't do anythin' special like that for Mary."

"Maybe you should wait, then," Hosea said. "You're unsure how to go about it, and I'm guessing you worked awfully hard for this dream of yours to come to fruition."

"I did, yeah," Arthur said with a bit of a yawn. He still hadn't adjusted back to a normal work/life balance, and John still woke Arthur some nights cuz of the kid's merciless bad dreams. 

"You deserve a break from the whole thing," Hosea replied. "Patience is a virtue. You'll know when the right time is. For now, you could just be glad that the physically hardest part is over."

"Yeah, you're right," Arthur said, putting the ring back in his coat pocket. "Thanks, Hosea." 

Hosea gave him a warm smile. "Of course. I'm here anytime you need me, Arthur." 

Hosea having his back was one of the only things Arthur was truly certain about in the entire world. Just like the sun always rose in the east, then set in the west, Dutch would always pick at every little thing, and John would forever have a sailor mouth. "Thanks, Hosea," Arthur said again, though he'd never be able to truly tell the man just how grateful he was. 

"Why don't you go get some rest, Arthur?" Hosea suggested. "You look exhausted."

Arthur nodded and rubbed at his face tiredly. "Yeah, I am." He agreed. 

"Go on then, son. I'll make sure you're up for dinner."

Arthur wanted to say thanks again but felt it would fall flat if he were to repeat himself a third time. Instead, Arthur stood, gave Hosea a pat on the shoulder, and he reached up to reciprocate the gesture. "See ya later, then," Arthur said. Hosea gave a nod and made like he was tipping his hat, though his head was bare. 

Arthur trudged up the hotel stairs and into his and John's room, closing the door behind him. Crossing the room slowly, he eventually got over to the bed. He plopped down onto it and sluggishly removed his boots, gunbelt, and satchel before flopping back and closing his eyes. 

The ring was bought. He no longer needed to wake every day at the crack of dawn and work himself half to death. Arthur fell asleep quite quickly, dreaming of a wonderfully warm night sometime in the near future when he'd finally ask Mary to wed him.


	29. Next Gen Renegade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so weird whenever I change POV in this story, as chained to Arthur as it is. Nonetheless, it's a good story tool, and I still like writing with this formula. Keeps you cowbros on your toes. ;)
> 
> So have fun reading from John's perspective for the first time ^_^
> 
> Also anyone who still remembers the first chapter should probably get MAJOR nostalgia of the wonderful kind. 
> 
> With all that said (jeez I make really long notes sometimes xD), please enjoy the chapter. <3

Spring was back again, painting the world with warm colors and weather after months of nothing but cold. From where John sat on a log across the fire from Dutch, Hosea, and Susan, he could see Arthur off a few yards away, taking care of the horses diligently. Dutch and Hosea were whispering amongst themselves while Miss Grimshaw mended clothing. Uncle was likely still sleeping, it seemed to John like the man didn't do much but nap and drink. 

John attempted drawing in the journal Hosea got him, but it appeared he lacked Arthur's finesse with a pencil. The horse John was trying to sketch looked more like a deer without antlers. Didn't quite look like a deer, either. Didn't really look like anything, frankly. Furrowing his brows with a deep frown, John tore the offending page out, crumpled it up, then threw it into the fire. 

"Somethin' not turn out the way you wanted, son?" Hosea asked. 

John slammed the journal close with a huff. "I ain't as good as Arthur at drawing." He mumbled. 

"I'd imagine not, Arthur likely started drawing before you were even conceived," Hosea replied before he turned in his seat, looking over at the hitching posts. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yeah, Hosea?" Arthur called back, making his way over. Hosea waited until he'd joined them to continue his question. 

"When'd you start drawing, son?"

Arthur scratched at his beard, which Hosea and Dutch no longer made fun of him for because it was coming in a bit fuller now. It made Arthur pretty happy, John had noticed. "Right before my mother died, I guess." He said with a shrug. 

"Long before John was around." Hosea prodded further. 

"Yeah?" Arthur replied, clearly confused. "What's John gotta do with it?"

"The boy's discouraged because his art doesn't look as nice as yours, or so he seems to think," Dutch answered. He, too, had picked up art recently, though, Dutch didn't draw with pencil like Arthur did. They told John it was charcoal, he was pretty sure. Dutch's work mostly centered around the human form, whereas Arthur's was mostly plants and animals. 

Arthur gave John a curious, sort of amused look, lips quirking up at the corners into a bit of a smile. "Well, of course, you only just started. You ain't gonna be perfect at everythin' the first time you try. I've been drawin' pretty consecutively for damn near eight years now, I still feel like I don't know what the Hell I'm doing half the time." 

"Then how come all your drawings look real nice?" John asked, hating the pout that stuck to his lips, but he couldn't really help it. 

Arthur shrugged again. "Years of practice."

"Speaking of practice," Hosea spoke up, transitioning the conversation topic as smoothly as ever, "today's a big day for you, John. Assumin', you're up for it."

Interest piqued, the sour look on John's face disappeared, he and Arthur turning their attention to Hosea and Dutch. "Really?" John asked. 

"We've been talking it over for a few days now, and decided it's time we taught you to handle a gun," Dutch replied, sounding proud.

John just about lost his shit right then, but  _ somehow _ managed to rein his excitement in. "Really?" He asked again, bouncing where he sat. He hadn't left camp since they started staying here when the weather broke about two weeks ago. Everything he'd been taught since leaving Chicago was academic, which John was convinced he wasn't good at, or the chores he and Arthur had to do to keep their camp running smoothly; though, honestly, Miss Grimshaw and Hosea were the ones really keeping everyone afloat, bless them. John wasn't too good at the work, neither, not the way Arthur was. 

"Are you two sure that's the best idea…?" Arthur asked carefully. John threw him a look, one he hoped conveyed his message of, 'shut the fuck up, Arthur, I wanna learn to shoot'. If only because he wanted to be good at something the way everyone else was. Save for Uncle, all he was good at was sleeping and getting soaked. 

"Of course, it is. The boy has to learn to defend himself." Dutch answered, his confidence never wavering. 

"Yeah!" John agreed with a bit of an attitude, sticking his tongue out at Arthur who just rolled his eyes. 

"Go get ready for the day, John, we'll leave when you're done," Hosea said as he read a newspaper. John scrambled to his feet, then over to his tent. 

Hosea and Dutch had gotten a tent and cot for John once they all moved outdoors. It was a little weird, having a space of his own after months sharing with Arthur. But they'd all insisted Arthur needed his privacy back. Whilst Arthur seemed content with the set-up, John was anything but. The temperature still dipped low at night, the only thing preventing it from chilling his bones being the canvas of the tent. Not to mention, if he awoke from a bad dream, Arthur wasn't there, and John would have to stumble through the night in order to go pester him. 

It was also unfamiliar to John having so many belongings of his own. He spent the first few months with them inheriting stuff saved from Arthur's not-too-distant youth. Now, most of what he had was his alone. John didn't mind the hand-me-downs, though, at the same time, it was nice to have things that were just his. 

He packed everything he felt he would need in his satchel, then John joined Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur over by the fire. "You ready, then, John?" Dutch asked him, and John gave a sure nod, feeling butterflies in his stomach. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

Arthur put a hand up. "Hold on, wait just a moment. I gotta go grab somethin'." He said, then jogged over to his own tent. John groaned in frustration, shifting on his feet impatiently as they waited what felt like forever. Then, Arthur finally came back over. In his hands, he had a revolver and an old holster, both of which Arthur held out to John. "Here." 

John took the weapon and holster a bit unsurely. "Um…?"

He didn't get to complete his thought before Arthur was giving John a grin. "That was my first gun. Hosea bought it for me. The holster was Dutch's. I don't need 'em anymore, so they're yours." 

"Well, I'm glad  _ those _ are off the shopping list," Dutch said, sounding a bit relieved. He'd heard them recently talking about money being tight. 

John looked down at the weapon in his hand, imagining Arthur, not much older than John himself was now, holding it as he aimed, pulled the trigger, probably hitting his marks the first try. Arthur shot with deadly accuracy that night the three saved him. John glanced back up at him and gave him a smile, more than happy to have a piece of Arthur's past. "Thanks, brother." 

"No problem," Arthur replied back quite happily. He'd seemed to have a smile on his face more often since they left Chicago. "Lemme help ya get that holster on." John stood still as Arthur looped the holster onto John's belt. Then, Arthur pulled his own gun out and put it back in its place, John copying him. "There you go, you got it." 

Being in the hotel with walls and a bed had been nice; but as he, Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea rode in search of a place for John to learn to shoot, John figured he'd much rather run with them for the rest of his life. Never settling down, never ceasing to find somewhere new. Dutch appreciated nature to a degree, but not as fervently as Hosea and Arthur. Their perception of the beauty the world offered had especially stuck with John. Now that he was able to enjoy the beauty of it all, not having to worry too deeply about the cruelty that it held as well, John couldn't imagine himself anywhere else. 

Hosea was skilled with people, Arthur, with animals, and Dutch's forte was words. John listened to Dutch's endless speeches about the horrors of society with a fire in his heart. Hosea would often cut Dutch off at a certain point, reminding him time and again John was way too young for philosophy lessons. John honestly couldn't begin to understand it. From what he'd been told, it sounded like Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur were doing good in the world. Why shouldn't John be able to know about that? 

The four of them eventually brought their steeds to a stop in a clearing, miles from camp, or any town. They hitched and fed their mounts before walking to the middle of the field, the scent of grass and dew perfuming a gentle breeze that blew by. As they stopped, Dutch looked around with his arms crossed. "Here should do nicely." He said, sounding quite pleased. 

Hosea was carrying a small sack of empty bottles and cans, John was sure, if the clinking of glass and metal was anything to go by. "I'll set up, you two start with some of the basics awhile." He instructed Dutch and Arthur. The pair nodded and Hosea went to scatter some targets for John to shoot at.

"Alright, son," Dutch said, and John's attention was on him immediately, because Dutch's voice had a way of commanding respect without it ever feeling unearned. "Draw your gun, like Arthur showed ya earlier." 

With a nod, John pulled the revolver free from the holster on his hip. "So, what do I do?"

"Might take a while for Hosea to get done, so might as well teach you how to clean that weapon," Arthur said.

"Why, it don't work if it's dirty?" John asked curiously. 

"Works less that way," Arthur replied. "'Specially if it rusts."

That made sense, John supposed, and so he followed Arthur over to a fallen log. They sat down and Arthur dug through his satchel, producing a small rag, along with a tube of something. "This is gun oil." He said, handing it to John. "Go on and open it up."

John screwed the lid off. "Now what?"

He handed him the rag and John left the revolver to sit in his lap. Arthur once more looked through his bag, then out came a spare rag and some more gun oil. "It's real easy, kid, watch me." John paid close attention as Arthur showed him how to clean the gun. Near the trigger, hammer, in and outside the barrel, and the bullet chambers. "Those are the areas that get worn down most often," Arthur explained. Soon, he finished, pulling the rag away from his gun, metal shining in the sunlight. "Now, you try."

John tried repeating everything Arthur had shown him with his own revolver, and though it didn't look as good as the job Arthur had done, John was satisfied with the end result regardless. "Like this?" He asked Arthur. 

"Yeah, you got it," Arthur replied with a grin, giving John a few pats on the back. "Good job, Johnny." 

There were very few things in this world that meant more to John than Arthur's approval. Sure, he wanted Dutch, Hosea, Susan, and Bessie's, too; but even from the day he joined them a little under a year ago, John'd always been drawn to Arthur more. So, to be told by him that he'd done well made John smile giddily. 

Next, Arthur showed him how to load the gun. After Arthur was done reloading his own piece, John copied what he'd done, popping the cylinder of the revolver out and carefully feeding bullets into it before closing it back up. "You're a natural at this. You sure you ain't never held a gun before?" Arthur quipped. 

John shook his head in confirmation. "Never."

Dutch stood to the side, smoking a cigarette as he watched John and Arthur. Not too long afterward, Hosea got done with the prep work and joined the three of them. 

"What have I missed, fellers?" Hosea asked. 

Dutch gestured towards them. "Arthur taught John how to clean and reload his weapon."

"Smart," Hosea said to Arthur, who tipped his head in appreciation. 

Dutch snuffed the last of his cigarette out on his boot with a grin, clapping his hands together. "Right then, John, it's time to see how your aim is."

Anticipation rushed through and over John in spades as they walked back to the middle of the clearing, revolver in hand, heart hammering in his chest. He eyed the bottles and cans, some of them closer, near eye level, some further and up more. Hosea and Arthur stood to the side while Dutch took command of the lesson. 

With a masterful flair, Dutch drew one of his guns. "Watch closely, John," Dutch instructed, and John nodded, his eyes glued to his mentor.

John watched vigilantly as Dutch raised the gun, his left eye closed as he aimed and fired. The shot rang out, and birds flew away, a hole punched clean through one of the tin cans slightly further back. When done with the demonstration, Dutch blew away plumes of smoke that billowed still from the gun's barrel. Then he holstered it, and stepped away, gesturing for John to take his place. "Think you can do that, John?"

John nodded, though still unsure, equal parts excited and scared to try for himself. "I think so." He said as he stepped into the spot Dutch had occupied not a minute earlier, hand shaking the smallest bit around the grip of the revolver he held. 

Dutch sidled up next to him, pointing to the targets around the field. "You see that little notch on the top of the gun?"

"Yeah." 

"That's the sight. You're gonna use that to aim. You're left-handed, right, son?"

John nodded. "Mmhm."

"Hold the gun in your left hand, close your right eye, then line up the sight with one of those bottles and cans over there," Dutch instructed. "Always aim it just the tiniest bit higher than where you're trying to get a shot in."

John listened, switching the gun to his left hand, which felt a little easier to hold. He closed his eye and aimed the sight at one of the bottles. "Now what?" 

"Pull back the hammer, and then the trigger," Dutch told him. John listened, pulling back the part Arthur had told him earlier was the hammer, and it clicked into place. 

"Always pull the trigger on empty lungs." Arthur chipped in, and John paid close attention to his breathing as he kept trying to correct his aim and stance.

John pulled the trigger and the gun went off with a bang, jerking his hand a bit from the kickback. The sound of breaking glass was just barely covered by the blast of gunfire, and they all looked in shock to see that John had hit one of the targets on the first try. Arthur especially looked surprised, eyes bugging just about out of his head, mouth agape, a dumb look on his face. 

"Are you sure you ain't never done this before?" He asked. 

John shook his head, a mix of pride and astonishment swirling through him. He really didn't think he was gonna be too good at shooting neither, and yet there was already a bottle felled from a bullet that came from the gun in his hand. "Never." He said again. 

"Marvelous first shot, son!" Dutch praised, chuckling as he gave John a few hearty pats on the back that jostled him around a little. He certainly wasn't as skinny as he was when they picked him up, but John still looked akin to a toothpick, especially compared to Arthur who was wide and strong. 

"That was a very good first shot, John," Hosea said next, a proud grin stretching across his face. "Don't think I even got half that close the first time I shot a gun." 

"I sure as shit didn't." Arthur spoke up, crossing his arms, and John heard him mutter, "Leave it to  _ Dutch's Golden Boy. _ "

John frowned, hissing back, "Stop callin' me that, I ain't no such thing." 

"Play nice, boys," Hosea warned gently, any typical pissing match John and Arthur would've normally gotten into there quelled before it ever got a chance to start. Both knew better than to disobey or argue with Hosea; he was stubborn in an annoyingly calm way that made clear how much a fool he thought you were being. 

Even through his mild frustration caused by his brother's dumb nickname, a part of John was surprised to learn neither Hosea nor Arthur, had hit their marks the first time learning their way around a weapon. And, anyway, how the Hell had he managed it? Couldn't write, math, draw or work, but John could shoot? 

"Couple more lessons, you could be on your way to bein' an excellent marksman, my boy," Dutch said, gaze somewhere in the distance like he was seeing it in the clouds. John couldn't even begin to imagine, honestly. 

"Then, I'll be able to protect myself, and all of yous, right?" John asked, those two things being the main reason he wanted to learn to shoot for a while now.

With a confident nod, Dutch answered, "Of course, son. You'll be able to handle just about anything thrown your way, in good time." 

The sound of that made John more excited to keep practicing. He could imagine, at least, going through life worry-free, or as careless as anyone could be. Weapon at his hip, their patchwork family surrounding him. Keeping each other safe, braving the world together like Dutch talked so passionately about when Hosea or Miss Grimshaw weren't telling him to stop feeding John so many ideas. 

He was told to fire off a few more shots, to see if that first one hadn't just been beginner's luck. He emptied the rest of the revolver's chamber, three of five hitting, four of six in total.  _ Not too bad, _ John thought, thinking back on his arithmetic lessons Dutch was giving him recently, which he sucked at even more than most other things. Even the two bullets that had missed weren't too far off from where he'd been aiming. 

"This is absolutely wonderful." Dutch gushed, sounding as giddy for the future as John was starting to feel. 

Arthur watched the whole time, looking impressed, though it seemed he had no intention of telling John that anytime soon. He shrugged, tipping his head, gambler hat blocking his face. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself there, Dutch." 

"Arthur's right," Hosea said, looking at both John and Dutch. " _ Ideally, _ John won't have to worry about learning all this too fast."

"Lighten up, you two," Dutch replied. "It's not like I'm tryin' to send the boy into a firefight as soon as possible. I'm just saying, he's at a really good beginning point." 

"That better be all you're saying," Hosea mumbled back, crossing his arms. 

What was  _ that _ all about? John had no idea, and he remained clueless. He was told to keep shooting, so he reloaded and emptied the gun three times before Dutch decided it was time to stop there for the day. Couldn't waste too many bullets, the three older outlaws told him, then they all packed up and headed home. 

As they sat around the fire that night for dinner, Dutch continued on how good a shot John was. John sat there, compliments making him feel as awkward as they always had, his cheeks feeling warm. Miss Grimshaw congratulated John, and he thanked her. Uncle was passed out drunk nearby. Bessie wouldn't hear of the events until the next letter or visit. John wondered idly when that would be, he was starting to miss her and could tell her absence was an even bigger sore for Hosea.

John's glance landed on Arthur every few minutes, who quietly scribbled in his journal with a focused look. From where he sat, John couldn't tell whether Arthur was drawing or writing. Regardless, he seemed wrapped up in thought, conflicted as he usually did. 

There were still so many things about Arthur that John couldn't begin to understand. How he looked so tired all the time, why Arthur would some days be his best friend, then others, they'd bicker like kids. Couldn't imagine Arthur not hitting his targets the first try, seeing his shooting that night him, Dutch, and Hosea saved John. 

There wasn't ever not gonna be stuff about Arthur that John couldn't possibly hope to comprehend, and he came to terms with it that night. The man was an enigma, John reckoned he always would be. 

Still, he'd keep wondering why it was that ever since leaving the city, Arthur seemed to always need to head back there. It was because of Mary, John knew that, but Arthur still hadn't proposed to her, and from what he'd said recently, sounded like they were on rocky ground. It was part of the reason John didn't really get to curl up with Arthur at night anymore, though John had no idea why Arthur treated him coldly just because Mary was being difficult. Wasn't John's fault. 

Despite his success and the rush of it all winding down, John still found it difficult to sleep that night. He pondered what Arthur was thinking earlier, seeing John hit his mark on the first shot. Was he proud? Unimpressed? Jealous? Was it bad John kind of hoped for all three? 

Arthur was the only person John had ever related to so much, hearing him tell of the first days and weeks he spent with Dutch and Hosea, the few weeks he was on his own. The worries of being alone and unprepared for the world in its all-encompassing strife. 

And when John did finally get to sleep, he was greeted by bad dreams. No Arthur there to shake him awake, so instead it was the shadow of a noose threatening him. Soon as his eyes opened, it was gone like that, though John could still picture it as he looked around his dark tent, shivering as a cold sweat lingering on his skin made a night breeze even chillier. A wolf howling in the distance not doing any good for his racing mind and heart. 

The dreams weren't as scary anymore, but some nights they were still too much, the fear as fresh as a knife wound that still bled. On those nights, and this one, John stumbled around the dark, using the light of the moon overhead to get to Arthur's tent with as few trip-ups as possible. He fumbled over a tree root, just about losing his footing on a rock that stuck up out of the ground before he slipped into Arthur's tent like a silent specter. 

Dim moonlight shining through the canvas of Arthur's tent casted on his sleeping form. Even in rest, Arthur looked like he was burning the candle at both ends again, easily looked a decade older than he actually was. The dark circles under his brother's eyes were a big factor in John scurrying back to his tent, sans Arthur's reassurances, plenty of nights before. 

Tonight was not one of those nights, John thought as he grabbed a hold of Arthur's shoulder and shook him a little. Light a sleeper as he was, Arthur stirred almost instantly, hand instinctively reaching for his gun, still holstered at his hip. "It's me," John whispered, and Arthur relaxed a little, muscles untensing. 

"John…?" Arthur asked, yawning. "Ain' ya gettin' a little ol' to be crawlin' 'nto bed wit' me?" He slurred, obviously knowing the reason John was there.

"I had a bad dream." John defended anyway. 

Arthur rolled his still half-closed eyes, wiggling to the edge of his cot to make room. "C'mere, then." He said, lifting the blanket in invitation. John climbed in next to him, though it was always a little uncomfortable now that they weren't at the hotel with a big bed. Arthur wasn't a small man, and his cot was meant for one. 

With John curled up next to him, Arthur drew the blanket around them. "Thanks, Arthur." John felt a need to say, because there was no real reason Arthur still indulged him like this, and yet, he did. 

"What're your bad dreams about?" Arthur asked for probably the hundredth time. It never annoyed John, but he still never told. 

"Don't wanna say," John replied, his answer most nights. Predictably, Arthur dropped it there. Still, John had some nerve, and a thousand unanswered questions about Arthur Morgan, wanting to fill as many gaps in the mystery that was him as he could. "... What are your nightmares about?"

About a month ago, just a few short weeks before they left Chicago, the roles had reversed for a night. Instead of John, it'd been Arthur mumbling and rolling around in his sleep, a pinched look of horror on his face, eyes screwed shut instead of peacefully closed. John hadn't asked then, nor had he until now, wondering what on Earth could possibly scare Arthur. 

Arthur had closed his eyes in favor of getting back to sleep, but at John's inquiry they flew open again, and he gave John a look like he'd just grown two extra heads and a tail. "So, what, I don't get to know what it is you're always fussin' over, but you wanna know what my dreams are about?" He criticized jestingly. 

"Just curious, 's all," John said with a shrug. "You ain't gotta answer, either, if you don't wanna." 

Arthur heaved a sigh, and as always, John could practically feel the inner war Arthur was having with himself, weighing his options. John envied him that; Arthur tended to overthink, but at least he thought at all. John just  _ did _ , caution thrown to the wind with both hands, nevermind any kind of consequences. 

"All kinds of things," Arthur said after a few long moments of silence. "My father. Sometimes about… Someone gettin' hurt, or worse." He took a pause. "Sometimes about dying." 

"Oh," John said softly. He wasn't sure what kind of answer he'd been expecting or looking for. "... What was that one you had last month about?" 

"Oh, that one?" Arthur said, sighing again when John nodded. "I think it was about… Eight years or so ago, Hosea got shot while he and Dutch were out on a scam, 'fore I was allowed on jobs with 'em. I helped patch him up, with Bessie and Dutch- was only us four, back then. Miss Grimshaw weren't with us yet, neither was Uncle. Hosea was bleedin' like Hell, thrashin', and cryin' as Bessie sutured him up. He only got grazed, but, I… guess I seen enough men shot to know what woulda happened if he'd not been as lucky."

"... Oh." John said again. "Anything like that happen since?"

"Dutch went and got himself shot, 'bout two years back," Arthur answered. This was what they did instead of sleeping whenever John had a nightmare. John asked a ton of questions, and into the early hours of the morn, Arthur would humor him. "Shot in the leg while we was robbin' a stage. Almost croaked several times, Hosea rarely left his side the entire week it took for him to begin showin' signs of improvement."

"Were you scared?"

"'Course, I was scared," Arthur answered. "I don't… Get along with Dutch the greatest, not like you and Hosea do, but… I care about 'im, and I'm sure he wouldn't still be draggin' me around with him if the sentiment weren't mutual."

"... Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

The thing John was gonna ask was real personal, he felt he shouldn't even bother asking, but it was a little too late, and Arthur was accommodating to most of John's questions. "When… When was the first time you killed someone...?"

Once again, Arthur's eyes fluttered open. There was no surprise on his face this time, just something that looked tired, a bit resigned. John already knew he, Hosea, and Dutch were all murderers. John couldn't judge, didn't have the room with what happened that night he was nearly killed by a bunch of homesteaders over a chicken and a dead cousin. 

"... I think it was about… Two months or so after Dutch and Hosea saved me." Arthur answered, clearly struggling to remember that far back. "We was camped near this town, Tripoly, I think it was called. Local gang of shitheads caught wind of our existence, attacked in the middle of the night. One of 'em had a gun to Bessie's head, Hosea and Dutch were unarmed. So, I shot the bastard."

"Was it difficult?"

"No. Shooting him was easy enough. Dealing with it afterward… Well." Arthur sighed. "It's a long time ago, now." 

John shrugged. "I guess." 

"What'd you, um…" Arthur paused mid-sentence, unsure. "... What was it like for you, when you… Y'know..."

_ Killed someone, _ went unsaid, but John wasn't daft, so he still heard it loud and clear. He shifted in the cot as he tried to think of how to answer that. He'd really rather not talk about it, but after goading Arthur into revealing some of his traumas, it was only fair to throw his own into the mix, especially at Arthur's request. 

"There's a lotta blood when you slit someone's throat," John said, not quite a full answer, though a pretty concerning one if Arthur's pulled expression had anything to say about it. His voice caught and cracked around a couple of the words, even as he continued on. "And, you can see it, when the life just, drains from their eyes…"

John still remembered the warmth of that feller's blood dripping down his hands as he slid his rusted little hunting knife across the man's throat. He'd panicked, having been caught, brought the man down to his knees with a kick to the shin, then instead of just incapacitating him, John freaked out and killed him. The only reason he was ever caught was because he couldn't get his breathing back under control again after that, choking on sobs as the weight of his heinous act pushed down on his shoulders, made him feel like invisible walls were closing in on him. 

There wasn't time to process it. His panic alerted the homesteaders, who beat him, tied him up, and nearly killed him themselves. Then, he was saved by Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch, and John dived straight into the lessons Dutch wanted to teach him without a second thought, happy to drown out any conscious thought of the night whilst awake, bothering Arthur if it came to him in his dreams. 

"I don't think I've ever felt worse, than… Than that night." John finished honestly. 

"... Yeah. I get that." Arthur said back. 

"I didn't mean to kill him," John added, also genuinely. 

"You were jus' defendin' yourself, Johnny." Arthur yawned in reply, and not for the first time, John felt guilty for keeping him awake. "Hosea told me, in a situation like that, killin' is a necessary evil."

John knew back then, just like he did now, that he didn't have a real choice in the matter when it happened. "Doesn't make it feel any less horrible." He muttered. 

"I know," Arthur said quietly, hand resting on John's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Try to get some sleep, though, brother. It's late." 

John nodded, Arthur pulling him closer and drawing the blankets around them tighter as John laid his head on his chest. "Night, Arthur." He said, closing his eyes. 

"G'night, John," Arthur replied. "...You did real well today." 

Warmth bubbled in John's chest and he smiled a little. "Thanks." He said. "Sleep tight, Arthur."

"You, too, Johnny."

After a few long moments of laying there, John finally drifted back to sleep, where more peaceful dreams awaited him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, cowbros.
> 
> Firstly, thank you all so, so, so much for 2,300 hits!! Y'all are great!! 
> 
> Secondly, y'all need to check out Toakenshire's fic, 'The Fox'. It's beautifully written, their prose is eloquent, very top standard, and it just about made me cry, it was so wonderful. Here's a link:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24155791
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a comment, as they motivate me to keep this story going whenever I get that little voice in the back of my head that tells me to give up on this beast of a fic *sweaty face*. I have no intention of listening to it, but comments are still really nice. 
> 
> Whilst writing this chapter, I came to the morbid realization that John inheriting Arthur's first gun means he's now using the gun Arthur used for his first (human) kill, all the way back in chapter five (First Blood), the feller that tried to rob him in chapter seven (Like A Lucky Penny), and Ruth's family from chapter sixteen (Were There Crossroads Where You Been?). Not to mention, any kills Arthur made with that revolver during that long time skip just a chapter or two before John was brought into the story. 
> 
> Anyway, I digress. I really need to stop rambling so much during these notes sometimes lmao
> 
> Have a nice day, partners <3


	30. The Proposal

Looking at himself in his small shaving mirror, Arthur's heart pounded as he fixed his collar for what felt like the hundredth time since getting dressed that morning. His hands were sweating as he adjusted the tie, and though he'd used the two-finger trick like Hosea'd taught him, it still felt like he was choking. 

Today was the day. He didn't want to wait any longer to propose to Mary. Arthur knew he should, but it felt like he'd already waited forever, and to do so any further would drive him crazy. 

He was thankful for the privacy afforded to him with John having his own tent and bedroll, as it meant no one was there to see his turmoil as he set about making himself look as presentable as he could manage. Uncle had passed out drunk, Miss Grimshaw was tidying up, John, working on his reading. Dutch was in Chicago, scoping out a lead with Colm and Patrick O'Driscoll, and Hosea had gone more than a week ago, visiting Bessie. 

Though he was thankful there wasn't anyone for him to make a fool of himself in front of, he could still really stand to have someone at his side. Hosea wasn't there, and he would be the first person Arthur would likely always turn to, he reckoned, whenever matters of the heart were involved. Even if Dutch were there, he'd probably just tell Arthur again that he was making a colossal mistake, proposing to Mary. 

Uncle wouldn't be any help; he'd likely just ask Arthur if he had any plans of bedding her anytime soon; Arthur still didn't much care about all that. Susan hated Mary's guts, and John was too young to understand. So, not for the first time, nor the last, Arthur was on his own. 

He'd gotten used to that by now, honestly. Arthur knew he'd always have a home and their patchwork motley family of outlaws to fall back on, that if he ever desperately needed someone, there'd always be Hosea, Dutch, Bessie, or Miss Grimshaw to depend on. At the same time, though, he knew they couldn't help him with everything, couldn't hold his hand through every single trial. Some he would have to face alone, and this was one of those situations. 

_ Doesn't matter, _ Arthur tried to convince himself. A bunch of other folks had been in his very place before, and a lot of them had come out of the situation successfully. Arthur could do the same, right?

Once he was sure he'd done all that he could to look his very best, Arthur mounted Boadicea and started towards Chicago. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur listened to the bustling city life that he was very unaccustomed to now that they were living in the wild again as he waited for noon to come around. Surely enough, on the tenth chime of a church bell, he spotted Mary across the street. 

She looked lovely as ever, and as she spotted him, Mary gave Arthur a big grin, waiting for a lull in the traffic of horses and wagons before she crossed the street to join him. "Well, don't you look nice today?" Mary said, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Leaning down a little, Arthur kissed her, hands on her waist. Mary kissed him right back, and Arthur felt a bit of a smile on her lips against his. 

"You're as gorgeous as ever." He told her once they'd parted. 

Smiling, she replied, "And you're as handsome as ever." Mary rested her hands on his shoulders. "What are you all cleaned up for? Got big plans for today?"

"Maybe," Arthur answered vaguely. "You ready to get outta here?"

"Of course."

Out of Chicago, Arthur helped Mary down from Boadicea and gave the loyal mare a few treats. The sun was bright, and there were puffy white clouds slowly drifting by. A gentle breeze blew a few strands of Mary's hair that had escaped her otherwise neat bun. The smell of flowers and grass perfumed the air, and a small stream burbled softly. 

After tending to Bo, Arthur held out an arm to Mary, who looped hers around his. They walked over to the stream, Arthur leaving Boadicea to wander; she'd always come back when he called for her. He and Mary sat on a log by the water's edge, and Arthur put his hand in his pocket, fingers closing around the ring. 

"It's very nice out today," Mary said after a moment of prolonged silence.

"Mm," Arthur said in way of agreeing. It wasn't too hot, nor cold. The wind wasn't strong, just enough to be pleasant. There was no sign of any rain coming their way. He'd be enjoying it even more if it weren't for the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest. 

"I wish I could get out of Chicago more often." Mary sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. "The world seems so much simpler and brighter, out here." 

Arthur wrapped an arm around her, taking a deep breath in and out to steady himself. "I don't much comprehend city life, myself, neither." He replied. "'Ve always understood animals a lot better than people. Always felt more at home surrounded by rocks and trees than buildings and streets."

Mary hummed softly in reply, then they both fell silent, listening to the birds chirp, leaves rustle, and the clear stream rushing in front of them. Arthur tried to burn into his memory the way the rays of the early afternoon sun lit Mary's face in golden light. He fiddled with the ring in his pocket as anxiety took him over again. Heart racing, palms sweating, mind swimming. Even the peaceful sounds of nature did little to quell his nerves, and Arthur knew it'd only get worse the longer he waited. 

_ I always think way too much, and then I get caught up in it. What am I waiting for? _

Arthur gently pulled his arm away from where he'd had it wrapped around Mary's shoulder, and she lifted her head, giving him a concerned look. "Is something wrong?" She asked. 

Arthur shook his head. "No. Nothin' is wrong." _ Or, I hope it ain't, _ he thought. There was still the possibility she'd reject him, and even that could go a million different ways. 

Mary sat up straighter as Arthur stood from the log. "You seem nervous." She said, hands folded on her lap.

"I am, a little, I guess," Arthur admitted. 

"What about?" 

Working up as much courage as he could, Arthur knelt on the ground in front of her, took his hand out of his pocket in favor of holding her hands in his. "Mary, you- you're the most wonderful woman I've ever met." He started, watching her cheeks begin to turn pink from all the attention.

She stared down at him with absolute adoration in her warm, brown eyes. "And you're the most wonderful man I've ever met, Arthur."

"You've made me happier in the past year and a half than I've been in… Christ, ever." Arthur kept pouring out his soul to her. "I don't like myself very much, but you always make me forget about that. You're smart and kind and beautiful, and I'd love to be with you the rest of my life. I… Think we could be real happy together."

"That sounds wonderful to me," Mary said, and Arthur felt his heart leap in his chest at that. 

"Miss Gillis," Arthur started, hands and voice shaking as he pulled away from her and reached into his pocket, pulling the ring out. Her eyes widened a little at the sight of it as Arthur held it up closer to her. "Would you marry me?"

Mary had a hand to her chest as her eyes just about bugged out of their sockets. "Arthur, I… I don't know…" She bit at her bottom lip. "We're still so very young, and… My father would never approve." She lamented. 

"Who cares what he thinks?" Arthur asked, a little perturbed to remember the existence of Mr. Gillis. The man had slipped his mind entirely, very unimportant when Arthur's focus was on Mary alone. "And I know, we're just a couple'a twenty-somethings, but… I bet I could look for another hundred years, and still not find another woman like you."

Anxiously, Mary looked around as she contemplated the question. The thought process she'd gone through must have been strenuous, brows knit together, and a frown pulling the corners of her lips down. 

Arthur was just about to give up and put the ring away when Mary finally said, with a quick nod, "I'll marry you."

He was frozen to the spot for just a moment, save for the surprised blinking; like he'd open his eyes again, and his ears would have deceived him. Mary kept looking at him earnestly, and it only took a few seconds to realize that she'd said yes. "R-really?" Arthur asked, a relieved chuckle bubbling out of him mid-word. 

She nodded again, a smile lighting her face up as she giggled at his reaction. "Yes, I'll marry you," Mary said again. She held out her hand to him, and, giddily, Arthur slipped the tiny ring onto her slender finger. The small piece seemed to dazzle her, despite its unceremonious size. She didn't spend too long looking at it, though, as her gaze swiftly shifted to him. 

Mary's doe-brown eyes were almost as warm as chocolate in the sunlight. Arthur leaned up from where he was knelt in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist as Mary tangled her fingers in his hair, and they kissed like they'd never get another chance. 

When they pulled away from each other, they couldn't help but smile widely at each other, faces lit up, pounding hearts pressed chest to chest against one another. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was still a smile on Arthur's face as he rode into camp later that evening. He couldn't help but be so happy after the thing he'd been dreaming about for months had finally come true. He hitched Boadicea, fed, brushed, and untacked her saddle. Then, he gave the headstrong mare a few pets, gently cooed words of praise to her, and strode into camp like he owned the place. 

He was greeted to the sight of everyone else sat around the fire, including Bessie, and a new face, as well; a woman who was sat next to Dutch. She was wearing a red dress and had her jet black hair pulled up into a braided bun. Her bright amber eyes were the color of harvested grain in the late summer. "Arthur!" Dutch called. "There you are, son. Where ya been?"

"With Mary," Arthur answered, quite pleased as he took his usual spot beside John. 

Dutch looked at the lady next to him, gesturing at Arthur as he told her, "This is my eldest protege, the one I was telling you about."

Arthur tipped his hat at the woman, and she held out her hand. He shook it gently. "Annabelle Sanders." She introduced herself. 

"Arthur Morgan."

Dutch snaked an arm around Annabelle, coaxing a giggle out of her as he pulled her closer with a devilish grin. "Miss Sanders will be joining us from now on." 

"The more, the merrier," Arthur said, more to Annabelle than Dutch. His attention, however, was quickly diverted to Bessie and Hosea. "Glad to see you two together and in one piece." 

"For good, this time," Bessie announced quite quickly and happily. Hosea, at her side, seemed even more pleased, grinning, arm wrapped around her, and their hands entwined between them. 

"Really?" Arthur asked a little incredulously. Bessie hadn't stayed with them for… What, near seven years now? Back then, Arthur'd still yet to go on his first trip alone, much less his first job. The baby of the group, some might say. 

He was reminded by a squirming boy next to him that ain't the case anymore. A lot of things have changed. 

Bessie nodded enthusiastically. "Really." She replied. 

"Well, ain't we all full of good news today?" Arthur asked as he eased back in his seat with a small grin. 

"Care sharing with the rest of us, what's got you lookin' so dopey?" Dutch asked around a cigar. 

Arthur waited a few beats of silence dragging out, then, with an even bigger grin, he announced, "Mary and I are engaged." 

There was a string of gasps, mostly from the elders, though John chorused in with his own little sound of shock. "Arthur, honey, that's amazing!" Bessie spoke first, a proud smile on her face. 

Hosea seemed just as pleased as he said, "Congratulations, son." 

Dutch, meanwhile, looked like he just got told all the money and jewels in the world had lost all their value. "What?"

Arthur's mood dropped there. Of course, Dutch wouldn't be happy about it, Arthur wasn't allowed to have _ anything. _ "I'm… Engaged. To Miss Gillis." He repeated, deadpan, as though Dutch had misheard him. 

Dutch made an all too familiar sound, heaving a sigh of disappointment. "Arthur, we've talked about this. The girl's trouble."

Hosea sprung up straight and looked at Dutch crossly. "No, don't you start with him about this like you always do." His tone was stern and made sure Dutch knew he meant business. "Arthur is a grown man, and he can marry whoever he wants."

"Thank you, Hosea." Arthur folded his arms across his chest as he also gave Dutch a bit of a death stare, and of course, John, right by Arthur's side, joined in. 

Dutch rolled his eyes, eased back where he sat again, and shrugged. "You're right. He can do as he pleases. I can't force him into or out of anything." He conceded. Arthur scowled a little harder at that. "All I'm saying is that he should think a little more on this whole engagement thing. It's a big commitment to make. He's still young."

"Stop talkin' 'bout Arthur like he ain't here!" John chimed in. 

"Thank you, John." 

"I think Dutch is right." Susan finally spoke up, having clearly grown tired of listening to all the drama, no doubt. It was a surprise she didn't say anything in the first place. "I only met Miss Gillis once, and I can _ still _ assure you that girl is bad news." 

It was Arthur's turn to roll his eyes. "Y'all don't even _ know _ her."

"That's the part that worries me!" Dutch exclaimed while Annabelle looked uncomfortable amongst a group of mostly strangers having quite the heated argument. Distantly, Arthur felt a bit bad for continuing on, but how was he to know there'd be a new member of their group today? "We spoke with this girl for _ half a day, _ and I still don't know her from a hole in the damn ground."

"_ You _ ain't marryin' her, Arthur is." Hosea said firmly. "You can't just make everything about you _ all _ the time, Dutch."

"Yeah!" John agreed.

Dutch didn't rise to it anymore, apparently having said all he had to on the subject- or, likely as not, saving a lecture for when there was nobody around to help Arthur talk him down. Hosea, who had practically bristled up like an angry cat on Arthur's behalf untensed, quickly calmed himself down the way Arthur only wished he could. John uncrossed his arms and slumped, looking as defeated as Arthur felt. 

He knew Dutch would have a lot more to say to him about it, and he was sure Miss Grimshaw would chew his ear off, too. Any mediation or damage control Hosea could provide would prove pointless the next time Dutch asked Arthur to ride with him alone. 

Everyone dropped the topic there, too afraid to voice any further opinions, lest the disagreement continue. They spent the rest of the night with collective attention on Annabelle. Arthur couldn't really pay her any mind and thought somewhere in the back of his head that he was gonna have to get to know her at some point. 

However, he couldn't stop dwelling on Dutch's reaction to the news of his engagement to Mary. He'd expected it, but that didn't make it better. Moreso, he was bothered by the whole thing confirming his biggest fear. Of course, the only way he could really sort through his thoughts was in his journal.

_ I asked Mary to wed me after months of waiting, and she said yes. ♡ _

_ Dutch ain't happy about it, and I'm sure her Daddy ain't gonna be very pleased, either. That's gonna drive a wedge into everything. It would've been one thing if only Mr. Gillis would have been against it, which was always gonna happen, anyway. Maybe I could have convinced Mary to join us like Susan did when she and Dutch were going together. _

_ But with Dutch being opposed to the engagement, as well, I'm sure either he or Mary are going to push me into choosing between the family I've found or the one I haven't yet started. I remain a conflicted fool, as I'm sure I always will. _

_ How could I possibly ever choose? If I stay with Dutch and Hosea, I'll miss out on wedding Mary, living the rest of my days with her like I want to. If I marry her, leave Dutch and Hosea, and the rest, I'll lose a piece of me in the process. _

_ Dutch, Hosea, John, Susan, Bessie, Uncle, and even this new girl, Annabelle, though I don't know her… They're my family, the closest thing to it I'll probably ever have. I surely won't have Mary's kin to rely on. The family I was born into is gone for so long now. I was lucky to find my corner of the world when Hosea and Dutch saved me. I owe them my life. If I were to leave, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. _

_ Dutch said I can 'do whatever I please', but he's clueless as to how difficult a choice it is to make. Says he can't force me into or out of anything, but that definitely ain't right. If I have to choose, I'm gonna have to choose Dutch, just like always. I don't really have an actual choice in the whole thing. Going off with Mary would be like betraying him and Hosea both. _

_ More than anything, though, I worry for John. I still think bringing him with us was a bad idea. Dutch and Hosea's schemes were catching up to us even before I started joining in on jobs; Crestville, that bounty hunter I ran into sometime after Bessie and Hosea left for that little while. We've had to flee so many times because of the things we've done, and I'm scared John's eventually gonna get caught in the crossfires. _

_ He's a good shot, even with only a few lessons under his belt… But shooting bottles and cans is a Hell of a lot easier than shooting at people. People move, duck out of the way, and shoot back. Some take a bullet just to get right up and start shooting at you again if they're stubborn enough, and you didn't hit them in too vital an area. _

_ So, what would happen if Dutch and Hosea were to make too much noise, lead a bunch of lawmen right to camp, and I'm not there? Would John be able to defend himself? Would Dutch or Hosea be able to handle the situation? Or would I have hypothetically screwed them all over by leaving them a gun short? _

_ One of the first things John asked me when we picked him up over a year ago was if I'd protect him like Dutch said I would. Even if I didn't like John, I'd still protect him, if only because Dutch said I would, and it seems I'm incapable of saying no to him. But I do like John, and I'd be betraying him, too, if I left. He's my brother, and he's still just a kid. A bunch of horrible things could become reality, and I need to be around to make sure nothing happens to him, or, at least, nothing too bad. _

_ I'm sure the person I'd really hurt most by leaving, though, would probably be Hosea. John would likely hurt for a while, but as he grows older, he'll start to understand that, sometimes, people come and go. Sometimes, people you expect to ride with the rest of your days, have to leave you behind to push their own journeys forward. _

_ I'm certain Hosea already knows this sad truth of the world. I'm sure he's already lost a few friends in his lifetime he was sure would last throughout. But he views me as a son, and (seemingly), unlike Dutch, actually cares about me. I love the old man right back. He's definitely a better father than my pa had ever been, and I'd miss him awfully if I had to leave. _

_ The only pieces of this life I'd have anymore would be Copper and Boadicea. Love them though I do, I'd trade them both a thousand times over for John and Hosea. _

_ Maybe I'm overthinking like I always do, maybe things will turn out better than I expect, but I don't have very high hopes in that regard. Soon, I will likely have to choose between being a husband, or _ _ <strike>a son a brother</strike> _ _ an outlaw. It won't be an easy decision to make, either way. _

With those thoughts caught between the pages, Arthur added a few drawings, as well. One of Mary, which he spent quite a while on, the look on her face when she said yes to wedding him. On a separate page, not nearly as detailed, he drew Annabelle, a custom of his to make sure every part of their small family had a place in his journal. 

_ Not so small anymore, _ he thought, remembering those early days when it was just him, Dutch, Hosea, Bessie, and Copper. Now, there was Susan, Uncle, John, and today, Annabelle. Bessie was joining them for good again, and Arthur was still holding onto the smallest sliver of hope that he wouldn't have to choose, and Mary would start traveling with them, as well. 

Arthur'd barely closed his journal before John stuck his head in through the tent flaps. "Knock knock?"

"Little late for that, don't ya think?" Arthur asked as he put his journal in his satchel. "What if I'd been in here changing my clothes? Or, anything else that requires being naked."

John made a face, and Arthur knew then that he'd said too much, decided not to delve any deeper into that topic. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Arthur shrugged, sliding on his cot to make room for John to sit next to him. 

John made his way in and sat next to Arthur. "Can I come to your wedding?" He asked pretty abruptly. 

Arthur snorted. "That's what you came in here for?"

"No." John snipped. "You was gone all day again. I just wanna talk. That too much to ask?"

With a sigh, Arthur said, "Nah. That's reasonable." 

"... So…?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course, you're invited to the wedding, dumbass."

"What about Dutch?"

"Tch." Arthur scoffed. "What 'bout 'im?"

"I don't like how he treats you," John replied, frowning sternly. "Like there's always somethin' wrong with everything you do."

"Like I'm some helpless little infant, can't do anything by myself. Cuz I'm too stupid, I guess." Arthur continued, knowing all too well the dynamics of his and Dutch's relationship since… Well, the beginning, really. "I know." He added with a bit of a resigned Huff. 

"Why's he like that?" John asked, scrunching his face in annoyance, likely at the thought of every little frustrating thing their mentor said, did, or believed. 

"He's probably nuts." Arthur only half-joked. 

"Probably." John agreed. "Anyway, what're you gonna do about the fact he don't want you marrying her?"

Arthur shrugged. "No idea." He answered honestly. 

"I hope you can wed her," John replied earnestly. "She seems to make you real happy."

"She does," Arthur confirmed with another sigh, feeling overwhelmed as the few options he had battled against one another in his skull. 

John fidgeted with a loose thread on his shirt. "It's real nice that Bessie's back with us." He said. 

"Yeah, it is." Arthur agreed. The conflict of his dilemma had made him forget about that for a moment. Nonetheless, he was more than glad she was going to stay with them for good now, had always wished some way or another that she and Hosea'd never left, in the first place. 

"Whattaya think of Annabelle?" John asked next. 

Arthur shrugged. "I dunno. Didn't get to know her real well. I was too wrapped up in my head."

"Figures," John said. A bit taken back and a little offended, Arthur shot him a small glare, opened his mouth to protest, but any argument died on his tongue. And, of course, John had to prod further. "Why do you do that?" 

"What, think?" Arthur quipped. 

"Yeah, but you think too hard." 

"And you don't think enough." 

John rolled his eyes, unphased by now to the casual teasing that came so easily to everyone in their group. Already had a lot more resignation about it than Arthur had ever been able to muster. Even when Hosea and Dutch pulled out their best tongue-in-cheek remarks, it rolled off John like water off a duck's back. "You know what I mean." 

"Hell if I know why," Arthur muttered, answering John's question before the boy got it in his head to ask more. 

That seemed to sate John's unquenchable curiosity for the moment. Wasn't allowed to last, though, as a minute later, John asked, "Why're you always gone all day?"

"'M busy," Arthur replied. "Scoping leads for jobs, running errands. Seeing Mary."

_ Precariously balancing on a line between two different lives while burning the candle at both ends _, would also have sufficed as an answer. If he'd been talking to Hosea, and not John, that is. 

"Oh," John replied simply, fell uncharacteristically silent again as he fidgeted a bit. Arthur swore John had never been able to sit still. 

"John!" Came Miss Grimshaw's voice a moment later. "It's bedtime!"

John huffed, and the breath made his long raven locks blow around. Susan would surely make him get a haircut soon. "How'd you deal with this bedtime bullshit when you were a kid?"

"Watch your mouth." Arthur reminded him for what felt like the millionth time. John made a face. "I did as I was told, and I didn't ask questions. That's how."

"That's no fun."

"Ain't supposed to be," Arthur told him. 

"John!" Miss Grimshaw bellowed out his name again. 

With a sigh, John stood. "G'night, Arthur."

"Night, John."

With that, John trudged out of the tent, and Arthur was once more alone. Even when Copper came trotting in and hopped up on the cot next to him, Arthur still felt the tug of war going on in his head. As the night went on, there it stayed.

_ What am I going to do? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled writing this chapter because the tragedy that Arthur and Mary's relationship turns out to be in canon deters me from wanting to write any of it out, because what's the point? We all know how it ends. Arthur never even gets to tell Mary he's dying from illness cuz she drops him out of nowhere. 
> 
> Regardless, I wanted to write Arthur's story, start to finish, and Mary is, unfortunately, a part of his journey. 
> 
> If anyone's interested, I started writing a prologue to go along with this fic that tells the main four's (Arthur, John, Hosea, Dutch) stories before the events of this one. It's called 'Before Them Years', and you can find it here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259711/chapters/58464646
> 
> So far I only have Arthur's backstory written and posted up, following him from the time he's 6 years old, until his father dies when he's 14, on the cusp of 15, just before the start of this story. I plan on writing John's next, then Hosea, and finally Dutch. Not sure how consistent those updates will be, but please go read and subscribe to it if you enjoy this story.


	31. Hydrophobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rather traumatic experience, John opens up to Arthur a bit more about one of his biggest fears. Arthur, meanwhile, tries to deal with his and Mary's strained relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very John and Arthur heavy chapter. Please leave a comment if you enjoy. ˆ_ˆ

It always seemed like John attracted trouble like flies to rot.

Things never went as awry for John as they always did for Arthur, but the boy still had a knack for getting into scrapes. Always spooking the horses with his loud mouth, nearly getting trampled. Always tripping over his own feet. Arthur swore that Copper had more brains in his head than John did. 

Arthur watched John run around camp, wondering where the boy got his seemingly endless energy from. When he'd been thirteen a decade ago, Arthur was just tired and resigned. He still felt like he'd never truly gained back the boundless enthusiasm he'd had as a kid before Lyle turned sour, and there wasn't anything to be excited about. 

Of course, whenever John got into trouble, it was always Arthur saving him. Today, the boy decided it was a good idea to climb the highest tree in camp. Simultaneously, it was also a really twiggy tree, whose branches were much too thin to hold anything more than John's weight. 

"Get down from there, you goddamn idiot!" Arthur yelled up at John, who just cackled as he made his way higher up. "You're gonna snap your neck!"

"Nuh-uh, I know what I'm doing!" John called back. 

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Arthur threw his hand up in defeat. "Fine, but I ain't goin' up there to get you down!" He said and walked over to the campfire. 

Bessie and Susan were mending clothes, Annabelle was doing dishes, while Dutch, Colm, Patrick, and Hosea were looking over a map. "Ah, Arthur, you finally decided to join us," Dutch spoke up first, though his eyes didn't leave the map. 

"Sure." Arthur drawled simply. "What you fellers plannin'?"

"Big heist," Colm replied in that grating voice of his. Arthur was honestly just waiting for the day that Dutch finally got sick of the O'Driscoll brothers and put a bullet in them both. "You in?"

Arthur shrugged. "'Course. Ain't got much else going on." 

Dutch scoffed. "What, you seen reason and broke off your engagement to that Gillis girl?"

"No." Arthur snipped a little aggressively. It'd been about two weeks, and Dutch was _ still _ on Arthur's back about it being a bad idea, wedding Mary. 

"Stop it," Hosea said firmly, mostly to Dutch, though Arthur was sure the eldest outlaw was getting sick of their squabbling on both ends by now. 

"So, what's the plan? Who's the mark?" Arthur asked, deciding to move the conversation back to the job. The conflict about his engagement could wait. 

"Some posh bastard probably wipes his arse with his money," Patrick answered. 

"Big oil magnate." Colm continued. "He's got more than enough to share." 

"Exactly the kind of bastard we're always after," Dutch added, quite pleased. 

Colm pointed on the map to a small square that had been drawn on, presumably the house of the oil man they were gonna be robbing. "He always leaves at the same time every day, comes back the same time every night. No guards, no additional house members. Place is completely left open for several hours every day."

Patrick grinned, his busted up teeth looking like absolute Hell as he did. "Easy pickin's."

"Sounds perfect." Hosea chimed in. "So, when are we doing this?"

"Tomorrow, assuming you three are up for it," Colm answered. 

"Of course, we're up for it," Dutch said, looking at Hosea and Arthur both. "Right, fellers?"

"Right." Arthur and Hosea said at the same time. 

"Then, yeah, tomorrow," Dutch said conclusively before folding the map back up. 

Colm and Patrick left shortly after, saying they would be back tomorrow for the job. Arthur didn't doubt that, but he knew the brothers would barely do anything once they got there, would leave the three of them to do all the hard work, and would still take a commission for the information. 

"I still can't understand why you deal with them," Arthur said to Dutch as the brothers and their steeds disappeared from view. 

"Nor can I understand how you deal with Miss Gillis," Dutch replied, and Arthur huffed in annoyance.

"She ain't as bad as you and Miss Grimshaw keep makin' her out to be." 

"That's enough, you two," Hosea said, once again, breaking up the argument long before it could get too serious. The older man looked around camp for a moment before he asked, "Where's John?"

"Up in that tree," Arthur answered, pointing. Sure enough, John was still up there. The trio walked over, and John glanced down at them with a grimace. 

"Arthur, help! I can't get down!" 

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "Nah, you know what you're doin', remember?" He said, and John stared down at Arthur with a nasty look. 

"Arthur, help the boy down," Dutch ordered. 

Arthur turned to look at Dutch and glared at him. "Hell no, you see the puny size of those branches?" He gestured towards the tree. "I go up there, and we're both gonna fall and break our backs."

"None of the rest of us can get up there, and he can't just stay stuck in a tree!"

Arthur wracked his brain for ideas as he listened to the rushing river next to them, much deeper and flowing faster because of the rain they'd gotten a few days ago. Nothing came to mind. _ Why's this damn kid always getting into shit he can't get himself out of? _

"John, start climbing down, carefully," Hosea instructed. 

"I can't!" John said hysterically, clinging to the tree's trunk for dear life. "I'm stuck!"

Hosea put his hands on his hips with an impatient look. "We'll catch you if you fall, but none of us can get up there like you can." 

John shimmied hesitantly where he stood on a wobbly branch, arms still wrapped tight around the trunk with a death grip. "Okay…" He said after a moment, voice shaking and his uncertainty evident in his tone.

Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch gathered closer to the tree, below where John was near the top, all of their arms outstretched as John began making his way slowly down the tree. Every few inches, he'd lose his footing for a moment or two, letting out a little yelp almost every single time. "You're okay, John, keep going." Hosea encouraged. 

"I'm gonna fall…" John whined pathetically again, any confidence he had when he started waning with each moment. 

"Maybe you shouldn't climb trees you know damn well you won't be able to get yourself out of, ya damn fool," Arthur told him. 

John's eyes narrowed into a glare, shot right at Arthur. "I bet I climbed way more trees than you."

"Which confuses me even further as to how you're still alive, without havin' had me to drag your ass down!" 

"Boys." Hosea chided, having already grown tired of the bullshit for the day. 

"Just jump, John," Dutch instructed. John shook his head quickly. "You're close enough to the bottom now, one of us'll catch you, son."

"... Promise…?" John asked. 

"I promise," Dutch said, holding his arms out further. "Go on, son, jump. You'll be okay."

Arthur watched as John got ready to jump, legs shaking in fear as he stood on a shaky tree limb. A few moments passed as John seemed to contemplate the best way to jump down. 

John calculated his trajectory wrong, and when he jumped, he fell into the river. 

Of course, Arthur's first instinct was to laugh his ass off at John's expense, but the giggles died down when a few too many moments passed, and John didn't resurface. 

The trio looked at each other uncertainly, glancing back just as John broke the surface, spitting up water and flailing his arms in water that was twice or more deep as he was tall. "Help!" John spluttered. 

"Swim to shore!" Arthur yelled at him, sick of always having to save John's dumb ass. 

"I can't sw-!" John's sentence was cut off by the strong currents pulling him back under. He didn't need to finish what he was saying. Everyone got the message. 

"Go save him, Arthur!" Dutch ordered once more, shoving Arthur towards the water. Arthur broke out of the slightly panicked trance he'd entered and sprinted towards the river, cursing John the whole time. 

John resurfaced again further down, and Arthur ran towards him faster, lungs heaving as he got pushed by the rapids further and further away. John finally managed to cling onto a fallen branch in the water, but it wouldn't hold for long. 

Arthur pushed himself faster, and when he finally reached near where John was, hopped in the river after him. John coughed up water as Arthur made his way over to him as quickly as he could. Once Arthur finally reached John, he grabbed the boy and practically threw him over his shoulder. The branch John had been using to stay afloat snapped a few seconds later. "I got you, brother," Arthur reassured him as John clung to him tightly, still coughing up water and shaking like a leaf. 

Hosea and Dutch sighed in relief as Arthur and John emerged from the water, still intact. The ladies had heard the commotion, and as Arthur set John back on dry land, they fussed over him. "Oh, honey, are you okay?!" Bessie asked as she cupped John's face in her hands. John only nodded, shivering as he wrapped his arms around himself. 

A bit aggravated, now that he wasn't concerned for John's safety, Arthur heaved an annoyed sigh as he started wringing the water out of his shirt. "Goddamn it, I only put these clothes on a couple hours ago…"

"Why didn't you tell us you couldn't swim, John?" Dutch asked. John gave him a pointed look. 

"You said one of y'all was gonna catch me!"

"Still seems a pretty important thing to not mention after a year of being with us." Their mentor said. Leave it to Dutch to lecture someone after a brush with death. Arthur agreed on some level, but really? John was still drenched to the bone and coughing up river water.

"Christ's sake, Dutch, let the boy catch his breath." Hosea chastised, looking even more tired. Seemed like he'd already hit his bullshit quota for the day. Arthur couldn't blame him. 

"Come on, Johnny," Annabelle said softly as she and Susan helped the shaking boy to his feet. "Let's get you dry." And then the women led John off to take care of him.

~~~~~~

Usually so sharp with his aim, John hadn't hit a single target today. 

"Focus," Arthur told him for like the twentieth time.

"I am." John snipped back as he reloaded the revolver. 

It'd been a couple days since John had fallen into the river. Dutch's little lecture only moments after the kid was saved scared anyone else off from asking John again why he never told any of them he had no idea how to swim. He'd been sullen and quiet, quick to snap when he wasn't, and hardly touching his food. He also spent the last few nights in Arthur's tent after sleeping in his own apparently proved too difficult. 

John wasn't himself, and it seemed his shooting was suffering for it, too. 

In hindsight, Arthur maybe should have realized sooner that John couldn't swim, even though the boy had never told any of them. It was only a few weeks after John came into their lives that Arthur took the boy on his first fishing trip, and he still remembered John's hesitance to be anywhere near the water. Same thing when he, John, and Hosea had gone camping, and now that they were set up near that same river. John always stayed as far from the water's edge as possible and even eyed the washtub with suspicion. 

John finished reloading and spun the chamber back into place, pulled back the hammer, and then the trigger. Missed his mark by a long-shot, and growled in annoyance. 

"Why didn't you tell us you can't swim?"

Arthur didn't really mean to ask again, but the question slipped from his mouth, anyway. John glared at him and said, "Cuz I didn't want for y'all to find out."

Arthur quirked a brow as he leaned back against a tree with his arms crossed. "Why not?" 

"It's embarrassing," John muttered. 

"I could teach y-"

"No!"

Arthur blinked a few times in surprise at John's outburst before he frowned. "Why the Hell not?"

John shuffled in place, his rage extinguishing into a mix of guilt and something else. He hunched up like a scared cat, practically curling in on himself as he said, "I can't." 

"Yeah, that's why you need to learn," Arthur replied deadpan. 

"No, I mean… I don't…" John fumbled over his words, sighing. "I'm… Scared of the water…" He muttered. 

"It's just water," Arthur said flatly. 

John turned back around and deflated again. "You don't get it."

"No, not really." Arthur agreed. 

John holstered his gun, apparently deciding he wasn't gonna be able to get anymore shooting in, considering they'd been out there for an hour now and he hadn't hit anything. 

"... Why are you scared of the water?" Arthur pried further. Even after a year and some change, John's past was still largely a mystery to anyone, Arthur included. He had a couple of pieces, but still not a whole picture because even as much as John ran his mouth, he still didn't talk much about his life before joining their motley family. 

John kicked at the dirt. "It's stupid."

"I doubt that." 

"It is." John insisted. 

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. I can't force you to tell me."

The ride home was quiet. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ What am I gonna do? _

This question had been burning in Arthur's mind for weeks now as he struggled to find an answer. Things between him and Mary had been rough the past week or so, and he knew the day was coming where she'd force him into making a choice. 

As with most things he dealt with, it'd been keeping him up at night. Weighing out the pros and cons. Considering his options. Overthinking, and coming up with a billion horrible ways it could end in his head while he scrambled for answers. 

Everyone else was already in bed since it was late into the night. The only other person awake was Hosea, taking up guard duty on the far end of camp. Arthur had his tent flaps closed as to keep his midnight musings a secret. Hosea could only fight so many of Arthur's battles. This was another thing he had to deal with on his own. 

He was running through the same couple thoughts over and over when he heard footsteps outside his tent. Arthur's head shot up from where it'd lolled to his chest, keeping his eyes open a chore even though sleep had refused to come. He sat up straight as the steps grew closer. The tent flaps were pulled back by tiny hands, and the dark brown eyes staring back at Arthur shot open wide in surprise at seeing the tent's resident awake at this hour. 

John immediately tried to backpedal and leave, turning on his heel. "John," Arthur called to him quietly, and John stopped in his tracks, turned back around slowly, and stuck his head in again. 

"... Yeah?" John asked just as quietly, probably also in fear of Hosea finding them awake this late at night. Neither of their mentors liked it when they were up too late. John needed sleep because he was a growing boy, and Arthur was a busy man who couldn't afford to burn the candle at both ends like he so often did. One of these days, it was gonna bite him in the ass, he was certain. 

"Bad dream?" Arthur asked. John nodded. "C'mere, then." 

John made his way in, and awkwardly sat on the cot next to Arthur, messing with one of his shirt sleeves like he so often did. A nervous tic, Arthur was sure. "Why're you still up?" 

"Oh, you know, I figured sleep's worthless, anyway. Just end up tired again, no matter what."

"Funny," John replied dryly. "So, what's the real reason?"

Arthur sighed. "Wrapped up in my head again."

"What about?"

"Mary," Arthur answered. "We been arguin' again lately."

"Why?"

"About the things her father thinks about me. Starting to think she feels the same way, herself."

"Oh."

Arthur looked at John for a long moment as he continued fidgeting with his sleeve. Emboldened, he asked a question he'd been on and off for the past year. "What was your dream about?"

As usual, he was met with a long silence, before John said, "It's dumb."

"Stop sayin' that," Arthur told him with a gentle nudge. John gave him a small frown.

"It is, though." John insisted. "It's always the same old dreams, from a bunch of dumb things that happened _ ages _ ago."

"So, what, you're not allowed to be afraid of that stuff anymore just because it happened a while ago?" 

"Well, no, just…" John clearly struggled to string together a coherent thought, so he gave up and sighed. He stayed silent for a real long moment, and it just made Arthur worry more, because before he fell in the river, John couldn't shut his mouth to save his life. Then, in a real small voice, he said, "You… Wanna know why I'm scared of the water…?"

Arthur did usually know when to keep his trap shut, and so he did. Only encouraged John to go on with the smallest little nod. 

John turned his head away. "I'm scared of the water cuz when I was in the orphanage… this one time, some of the older boys tried to drown me."

"Christ, why?" Arthur asked. 

John shrugged a little. "I dunno. I don't know why they did any of the things they did. Cuz I'm small, and I'm weak and an easy target, I guess." He looked up at Arthur with big, dark, sad eyes, akin to the way they looked when he was about to be strung up by his neck a little over a year ago. It made Arthur's heart ache. "I tried, you know? That year I was on my own. I knew I had to learn, cuz it's an important survival skill. And there wasn't anyone to pull me outta the water back then. 

"But I just… Can't get near the water, Arthur." John said shakily, dipping his head. "I lock up, my palms get all sweaty, I get dizzy, and I feel like I'm gonna throw up. I can't breathe or think right…"

John was even getting worked up thinking about it if the pale look of quelled terror on his face was anything to go by. "Hey, hey, calm down, brother," Arthur said softly as he put a hand on John's shoulder, pulling the boy out of his panic-induced trance. "You're okay."

John nodded a little, hesitated, then said, "It was so long ago. I dunno why it still bothers me so much."

"How old were you…?" Arthur asked out of curiosity. 

"Nine."

"Goddamn."

"Yeah." John agreed. 

Arthur sat there and tried to think of something to make John feel a bit better. The only way he was ever good at that was trying to relate to him. 'Cut from the same cloth,' Dutch had said about Arthur and John, and damn if he wasn't right. "Y'know, I'm afraid of heights."

John blinked at him a few times, a puzzled look on his face. "Really?"

"Terrified," Arthur said. "I remember this one time when I was nineteen, Hosea and I went out on this fishing trip. He told me it was a real scenic route up a mountain. What he _ didn't _ tell me is that the 'trail,' if you could even call it that, spiraled up the side of the mountain and was only as wide as you are tall."

"No way." John denied. 

"Yes, way," Arthur argued back. "And, ya know, I was already over most shit by the time I hit that age, had seen a lot of crap and all that, but I still cried like a baby about it all the way up to the top. And down."

"Huh," John muttered thoughtfully. "Did… You ever get over it?"

"Kinda."' Arthur answered honestly with a bit of a shrug. "Been through even more shit since then, so I guess being high up really ain't all that scary anymore. Or maybe it just got less scary through exposure. I dunno."

"Doesn't really matter, I guess," John said with a shrug of his own. "I ain't as brave as you."

Arthur had to scoff at that. "Hell, John, you're the bravest person I know."

"You're just sayin' that."

"No, I ain't," Arthur said. He put a hand on John's shoulder, and that made the boy's gaze lift from the ground. "I mean it. You're a lot tougher than you think you are."

"... You think so?" John asked meekly. 

"I know so," Arthur replied. "What other kid your age could live out in the woods by themself for a year with no clue what they're doin'? If I'd been tossed into the world at eleven, I wouldn't've even made it a day, much less a year. Some grown men can't even do that. Takes a lot of guts, being out there on your own."

Arthur's pep talk seemingly worked, if the relieved and emboldened look on John's face was anything to go by. The kid trapped Arthur in a hug, and Arthur, of course, hugged him back. "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welcome, John," Arthur replied with a grin John wouldn't be able to see since the boy had his head nestled into Arthur's chest. "You oughta get back to bed, now, though, before Hosea catches you up at this time."

John nodded a little in agreement as he pulled away from Arthur and stood from the cot. "Okay." He said. "Goodnight, Arthur."

"Night, Johnny," Arthur told him back with a small smile. "Sweet dreams, brother."

"You, too," John said, then left the tent and snuck off towards his own. 

Arthur sighed as he was left alone with his thoughts once more, the only company he had anymore being Copper who lay at his feet. 

_ What am I gonna do?_


	32. Good Things Ain't Meant To Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As fast as bonds can be made, and futures planned, so, too, can they crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for 3,400+ hits and 150 kudos! Ya'll are great <3
> 
> This chapter is a little different, as it shows more of Arthur and Dutch's relationship. I've been ignoring their dynamic a little too much in favor of Arthur's relationships with Hosea, John, and Mary, but I don't wanna continue showing only Hosea and John as capable of comforting Arthur. Dutch helped save him, too, they obviously love each other, and I need to stop neglecting their dynamic. Not to mention, Dutch needs a little more character development, in general.
> 
> With all that said, please enjoy the chapter, as much as you can through the depressing tone.

The sun was shining brightly, and puffy white clouds drifted lazily by as Arthur and Mary rode outside the city limits of Chicago. 

It was the end of June, and they'd been engaged for about a month. Arthur and the group had moved pretty far from the city, but it didn't stop him from seeing her, as much as he was sure that had been Dutch's goal in getting that far from Chicago, in the first place. Now, they were near a town called Ravenbranch, twenty-five miles northwest of Chicago. His mentor was still insisting the only thing Mary was gonna do was break his heart. 

_ "I'm tellin' ya, son, that girl is toying with you. She ain't like the ladies we got traveling with us. She'll never accept you for who you are, Arthur." _

Even thinking about it ticked Arthur off fiercely. No matter how much he or anyone else tried, nobody could talk Dutch down from raising a stink about Mary just about every damn day. 

_ "I just don't wanna see you get hurt." _ Dutch would say, but a stubborn part of Arthur refused to believe that. Dutch never had any qualms with Arthur learning the hard way before. Why would this be any different? 

Regardless, he was out here to get away from exactly that. Dutch was nowhere around, his brilliant plan of moving far from Chicago to encourage Arthur to keep Mary at arm's length backfiring against him as Arthur was with her. 

Things had been rocky between them, but for the most part, he found himself still enjoying any moment he got with her. 

Of course, being so far away meant he'd only seen her a few times since he was finally able to ask her to wed him. It also made the travel time a lot longer, which annoyed John, because Arthur was around even less often than he already usually was. Between jobs and seeing Mary, Arthur got to go home to the group maybe a few times a week. Otherwise, he'd push himself all day, set his own camp at night wherever, just to get back up and at it again the next day. 

It was exhausting and made Arthur long for the days when he was barely allowed a few miles from home, and all he had to do was take care of the horses and camp. Actual sleep was a rarity, a constant swirl of  _ what am I gonna do? _ bouncing around his head at night. 

Being out here with Mary was what made it all worth it, though. Today, they sat in the grass as Arthur braided her hair, and they idly chatted about their two very different worlds. 

Arthur could never quite understand what she was going on about a lot of the time, unfamiliar with high society, but he still listened and gave input where he felt his opinion could contribute. He was more than content just to listen, though, whenever Mary rambled on about civilized life’s complexities. 

Equally, she never seemed to grasp Arthur's world’s workings, but was still just as happy to lend an ear to his plights as he was towards hers. 

She was so easy to be around. It almost felt wrong to be apart from her as often as they were, and Arthur wondered if the hollowness in his chest whenever he and Mary weren't together was alike whatever Hosea had felt when he and Bessie were separated for so long. Mary made him feel that there was maybe something to look forward to. The hand he'd been dealt to start with was shit, but perhaps his luck was in a different set. Maybe, a few years from now, they could both look at the obstacles ahead of them at this moment and laugh. 

How naive he'd been, to think he could catch a break; that he was owed any kind of good in the world. 

It started as a little thing. She brought up how straining the distance was, and he agreed. "Dutch did it to keep me away from you, I'm betting."

"My father has gotten just as frustrating." She lamented. "Says he'll disown me if I actually marry you."

Arthur sighed heavily. "What a bastard."

Mary gave his arm a light slap and a stern look. "Don't talk about him like that. From what you've said, your mentor isn't exactly very approving of us, either."

"He's  _ definitely _ a bastard," Arthur said a little bitterly. His opinion of Dutch had only been growing sourer of late, with all the arguments the older outlaw started over Arthur's relationship with Mary. Things hadn't been this tense between them since Hosea and Bessie left those years ago, and it was only the two of them for those few months. 

"Daddy just wants what's best for me," Mary said firmly, brokering no argument in her tone. 

"Just as Dutch just wants what's best for me."

"I kind of doubt that."

The reply was muttered, but Arthur still heard it more than loud enough. "'Scuse me?" He said anyway. 

She looked back up at him from where her gaze had fallen to the ground. "How many times has being on the run with your mentors put your life in danger?"

Arthur opened his mouth to reply but didn't have an answer. 

How many times had he almost died while in Dutch and Hosea's care? The first job he'd gone on had been pretty risky. That business with that girl's family. Those thugs who kidnapped him when he tried to save a lady. That first time their camp had been ambushed when he was fifteen, and one of them held Bessie hostage at gunpoint. That bounty hunter whose rifle he'd stared down the barrel when he'd gone off to find Hosea and Bessie when he was sixteen. Plenty of times since then, come to think of it. 

Arthur scoffed. "I'd be worse off without them. They've saved me a lot more times than endangered me."

"Your life is on the line every single day, Arthur." Mary pushed further. "It won't be long before your face is on wanted posters all over the state or even the country."

"Everyone's life is on the line every day." He said, didn't even catch how much he sounded like Hosea had with Bessie years ago when she'd begged him to get out of the life until it was already out of his mouth. 

"Arthur." She said again, sounding desolate. "Daddy ain't gonna let me marry an outlaw."

"Who cares what he thinks?"

"I do!" Mary cried out, offended. "He may be coarse, and I might not always agree with him, but he is still my father, and he's right."

"You can't be serious," Arthur replied. A part of him wondered if he should pinch himself to see if this was a bad dream. All the fears he'd had since he bought that ring were becoming a reality in front of his eyes. 

"I am." She said. "Your mentor wants to paint me like some monster, and pretend he just wants what's in your best interests, but I got a feeling you follow that man much further, and he'll lead you to ruin."

" _ That man _ has saved me more than once," Arthur argued, both of their voices steadily rising as calm discussion quickly turned into discourse. "I wouldn't be standing here right now, if not for Dutch and Hosea."

Mary crossed her arms and stuck her nose up. "They're criminals, Arthur."

"So?" Arthur asked with a bit more venom than he probably should have. "Just because your pa is a society man doesn't make him any better. He's a part of the corruption that's killin' this country."

She rolled her eyes. "This you talking, or Dutch van der Linde?"

"Well, I wouldn't've followed him this far if I didn't agree with at least some of what he believes, now, would I?"

"I won't argue this with you anymore." 

"Then, don't."

"What's it gonna be, then?"

Arthur's heart could have just about stopped there at the underlying order. The thing he'd dreaded the most was happening. 

_ Choose, _ she said, without actually uttering the word. 

_ I don't have a choice, _ Arthur reminded himself unhelpfully. As though he hadn't already been aware of that from the start. 

He thinned his lips into a line and stood from where they'd been sat on the grass. "I can't leave my family."

"Nor can I leave mine." She replied softly. "Mother… Ain't doin' too well… and I'm not leaving Jamie with daddy on his own."

"Well, I ain't leavin' John, Hosea, Bessie, or Dutch." Arthur fought hard to keep the shakiness out of his tone as he spoke, but his emotions betrayed him. The world felt like it was crumbling around him. Any hopes he'd had for the future even as recent as earlier that afternoon, dashed with one bad argument stacked on top of all the tiny ones they'd had. 

He should have known better from the beginning. Dutch had tried to warn him, but Arthur wouldn't listen to logic, only heart. 

_ "You're from two different worlds, son. She won't live like we do, and you wouldn't be happy trying to fit into the gilded cage with her, either. It ain't gonna work." _

Mary rose to her feet as well, but neither of them looked at each other or said anything for a long moment. She was the one to break the silence. "I guess that's that, then."

"Guess so," Arthur said back, his words sounding as empty as he felt. 

Mary sighed shakily, her gaze still on the ground as her eyes glassed over. "Oh, Arthur…" She said pathetically, finally meeting his glance. "Why does it have to end like this?"

Arthur looked back down at the grass and scuffed his boot on the ground as he shrugged. 

The ride back to Gillis Manor was a quiet one. Neither of them said very much from the moment she asked him to bring her home until the second they got there. When they arrived, Arthur didn't even bother to hitch Boadicea. He hopped down from her back and then helped Mary climb off as well. As he set his now ex-fiance back down on her feet, Arthur pulled his hands away from her immediately, still unable to meet her eye as they both stood there staring at their feet.

After a few moments of fiddling with the ring on her finger, Mary pulled it off and held it out to him. Arthur shook his head. "Keep it."

"But-"

"I worked really hard to get that for you," Arthur said firmly. "Keep it. It's yours."

Mary didn't put the ring back on, but she didn't try to give it back to him again. Arthur had no need for the small piece of jewelry, anyway. What were the chances he'd ever try to get married to anyone again? 

None, he figured. Mary was the only woman Arthur was sure he would ever want, but apparently, the feeling wasn't as mutual as he'd previously thought. 

_ "She'll never accept you for who you are." _ Dutch's voice echoed in his head again, almost mocking at this point. Of course, he'd been right, damn him. 

"Please, Arthur," Mary begged again after another long bout of silence. "Change."

He wanted so badly to tell her that he would, to go back home, pack his stuff, and run off with her somewhere they could build a life together. But then he thought of the group, and how he'd be leaving them one gun short. What if the difference between any of them living and dying rested upon having as many marksmen as possible? What if he went with her, the camp got attacked, and someone got killed because Arthur wasn't there to help protect them? What if John got hurt or worse because he wasn't there? 

He wouldn't see any of them ever again if he left with Mary, save as maybe a depressing article in a newspaper who knew when. He'd miss out on seeing John grow up. Wouldn't ever sit around a fire with the group and sing songs, or swap stories. He'd be leaving behind the only home and people he'd known for so long now. 

He'd be leaving Dutch and Hosea a man short, and that had to be traitorous somehow. Arthur owed them both his life so many times over, whether from their teachings or them directly saving his hide. How could he even think about leaving the only home he'd had for eight years?

"I can't." He told her again, even quieter this time. 

Silence washed over the pair again, and tension only grew. 

"Could…" Arthur began to ask her a question, clearing his throat and hoping it would make the shakiness in his voice disappear at least a little. "Could we still be friends…?"

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. "I'd like that." She replied quietly. "For now, though… I need some space."

Arthur just nodded. Neither of them said anything more to each other. Mary gave him a real sad look before she turned on her heel and walked into Gillis Manor. Arthur watched her disappear into the large house, feeling empty. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur spent the whole ride back to camp trying his damndest not to cry. 

He didn't often cry, usually bottling his feelings up to deal with in either a productive or violent way later. That, or sometimes he opted to ignore issues entirely. It probably wasn't very healthy, but the last thing he needed or wanted was for anyone to see him shaken. Even after so long, Arthur still found it difficult to be vulnerable with anyone other than Hosea. 

He and John had shot the midnight breeze about all manner of sensitive things, too. Some stuff he hadn't even been able to speak with Hosea about. Though there was a lot he and John had in common, Arthur's current problem was not one the boy could relate to, understand, or help with. 

Not that it mattered. When he left this morning, almost everyone was getting ready to go into town for the week. The only one who wasn't going was Dutch. So Arthur wasn't surprised when he rode into camp, and only his younger mentor was there, sitting by the campfire with his nose in a book; Evelyn Miller, probably, knowing him. 

Usually, he’d never seek any solace in Dutch. The few times he had the last eight years traditionally ended in a lecture, or with Dutch taking over and prematurely ending the conversation, thinking it to be on a high note, while Arthur was still blindly stumbling around in the dark with issues he’d never get to bring back up. Dutch never really listened like Hosea did. Arthur was never truly able to speak with Dutch about anything going on in his messed up head, as the bumbling words that spilled from Arthur’s mouth were nothing akin to Dutch or Hosea’s silver tongues. Anytime he tried, it always completely went over Dutch’s head, and the older outlaw would start spewing some optimistic bullshit that wouldn’t help. As such, Dutch hadn’t seen him cry much.

Dutch had seen Arthur bawl his eyes out all of one time. When Arthur had to put Charlie out of his misery, it was Dutch who stood beside him that day, Hosea off visiting Bessie that week. Arthur loved Charlie dearly since getting the gelding just a few short weeks after joining Dutch and Hosea, so to be the one to end his suffering made Arthur feel downright awful. To Dutch's credit, he hadn't lectured him or tried spouting silver-lining shit, then. 

_ "You did all you could for him." _ The older outlaw told him softly with a few pats on the shoulder as he pulled Arthur in for a hug. Arthur had been beside himself, tears rolling down his cheeks and his breath hitching as he wrapped his arms around Dutch tightly, thankful for the comforting presence, even if it wasn't Hosea there.  _ "It's okay, son, I got ya." _

And sure, Arthur could just go to his tent and try to deal with it on his own, like he did most things, these days. He didn't really like that idea, though, had already dealt with so much on his own in the past few months. He needed someone, and he wouldn't deny his needs this time. So, his eyes still blurred over from the ride, he walked over to the campfire and stopped just behind Dutch. 

It was dark, the sun having set a several minutes ago, so when Dutch took the smallest glance back at him, the slightly older man didn't notice the tears threatening to spill down Arthur's face. "Hello, Arthur." He greeted, a bit disinterestedly. "Back so soon? You usually disappear for days when you go see that Gillis girl."

Arthur bowed his head. "Won't have to worry 'bout that no more." He mumbled. 

Dutch straightened where he sat, closed his book, and turned on the log he was sat on to face Arthur. "What?"

"You got what you wanted," Arthur told him as he lost the battle of holding his tears back. He rubbed at his eyes as Dutch stood to his feet. "Mary broke off our engagement..." He all but choked out. 

"Why?" Dutch asked, the sympathy in his tone surprising Arthur a little, even though it maybe shouldn't.  _ "I don't want for you to get hurt." _ He kept saying, and perhaps Arthur should have believed that. 

"She made me choose…" Arthur sniffed, his head still hung. "Her, or you and Hosea…"

Dutch's eyes grew sad. "Oh, Arthur..." He said gently, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Come here, son."

Arthur stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Dutch, who hugged him back just as tight. Arthur cried into his shoulder as his mentor tucked loose strands of hair behind his ears. "I'm so stupid…"

"You ain't stupid, Arthur," Dutch replied, carding his hand through Arthur's hair as he slowly swayed them back and forth. "You're a fine young man." His mentor continued. "That girl doesn't know how lucky she was to have you. It's her loss, not yours. You deserve better than that, my boy."

"No, I don't…" Arthur sobbed, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of Dutch's shirt as he felt his mentor's shoulder start to get damp from all his blubbering. 

"Yes, you do," Dutch replied even more firmly, pulling away from the hug as to look Arthur in the eyes. His face was a blur behind the neverending tears that seemed to refuse to stop torrenting from Arthur's eyes. Dutch held him by the shoulders. "She's a fool, Arthur. You're wonderful just the way you are, and if she can't see that, then it's her problem."

The part of Arthur that hated himself, which was a fairly substantial part, didn't want to believe that. He tipped his head down again as Dutch's words went in one ear and out the other. "I blew it, Dutch…" Arthur all but whined, sounding pathetic, and loathing it. Not like it was far from the truth, though. "I ain't never gonna find someone like her again."

"Nonsense," Dutch said, though not in that headstrong, argumentative tone he usually used to tell someone they were wrong. Tender, almost. "You're still so young, and there's plenty of wonderful ladies out there just waiting for a fella like you."

Stubborn and doubtful, Arthur just shook his head again as he took in a shuddering breath. Dutch pulled him in for a hug again, and Arthur deflated as soon as his mentor’s arms were around him, leaning most of his weight on Dutch as he continued to sob into the older man’s shoulder. “Oh, Arthur…” Dutch sighed as he rubbed circles into Arthur’s hunched shoulders. “You’re such a bleeding heart, son.”

“Th-that bad…?”

“No,” Dutch replied softly. “It just means you care. Don’t ever change that.”

“Okay…”

Arthur still wished he could have had Hosea for comfort, but once again, Dutch more than stepped up to the challenge. He felt bad for calling the man a bastard earlier just to turn around and blubber all over him, but no matter how much they butted heads, a part of him had known the entire time Dutch had only been trying to look out for him.

And his mentor probably wouldn’t say it in as many words, talkative as he was, but Arthur knew Dutch loved him and hoped Dutch knew Arthur loved him right back.

But his chest still ached over losing Mary. It happened so suddenly, and he hadn’t seen it coming until it struck like lightning. The future with her he’d been dreaming of ever since the idea of asking her to marry him popped in his head was no longer in reach; the bubble bursted, the fat lady singing. He’d never get to be the father of her children, or grow old with her. They’d never again sit together in grassy fields outside the city, or in that coffeehouse they spent their first day together. He’d never wake up and find her at his side, or go to bed with her at night.

What had he even been  _ thinking? _ That she’d throw away the comforts of her rich society life to join a bunch of outlaws? That she’d leave her home and her family to go galavant the country and sleep in the muck, never batting an eye at Arthur’s crimes?

It would have hurt more, though, he was sure, to leave the group behind. They were his family, the only one he had. Dutch and Hosea had taken him in and raised him as though he were their son. Bessie reminded Arthur so much of his mother, both in appearance and personality. He’d never had siblings growing up, had always wished he did because of the loneliness that plagued his childhood; then John came along and filled a void Arthur hadn’t even thought about for a long time. He wasn’t sure what his relationship with Susan, Annabelle, and Uncle was, but they were family, too,

More than anything, though, it hurt to know that he couldn’t have Mary and the group. She didn’t want any part of his world, and he didn’t want anything to do with hers. She was living in a cage. Arthur and the group were free.

But what was the point of being free if he still ended up with a broken heart? Arthur had met plenty of girls his age in the years he’d been running with Dutch and Hosea, but none of them had ever made him feel so alive or comfortable in his skin as Mary had. He’d felt just about invincible around her, so sure when he usually wasn’t, so confident when that typically wasn’t the case. Being with her had made him happier than he could remember being for so damn long, and now, the future of happiness he’d wanted with her was gone. 

Dutch let Arthur sob on him until he ran out of tears. “It’s okay, my boy.” His mentor cooed comfortingly to him as Arthur sniffled and shook, still tightly clinging to him. “You’ll be alright. I know it hurts, son.”

After a few more moments of misery, Arthur finally pulled away, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the dampness from his face as Dutch held him steady by the shoulders. “Sorry…” Arthur croaked sheepishly.

“It’s alright,” Dutch reassured him, pulling out a bandana and stepping closer to fill some of the gap between them again as he gently wiped away a few stray tear tracks on Arthur’s face. “How’s about we get you cleaned up, and then have a drink to calm you down, yeah?”

Arthur nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground as he sniffled again. “Yeah.” He said quietly, those two things sounding precisely like what he needed. 

Dutch released his hold on Arthur and went off into his tent as Arthur sat down in front of the campfire. He soon joined Arthur on the log, carrying with him a small bucket of water with a washrag, and a bottle of amber liquid that Arthur could only assume was whiskey based on Dutch’s taste in spirits.

Arthur sunk in on himself more as Dutch used the rag to clean him up gently. His eyes burned from having cried so hard, so he closed them and let Dutch work, listening to the fire’s crackle and the sound of crickets chirping. It was weird, he thought, that the same hands he’d seen snuff so many lives by now were just as capable of being soft and caring. Though he supposed he’d seen Hosea kill just as much, and it never surprised Arthur when Hosea would tenderly patch him back up. 

He’d always favor Hosea over Dutch, even though he loved them equally, but Arthur still knew that Dutch was there for him. Despite their differences and the unsteady ground their relationship stood on, Dutch was still family. Dutch was shit at showing it most of the time, but he cared, and it was moments like these that solidified that fact and told Arthur he’d made the right choice. 

Mary wanted Arthur to change. Dutch loved him just as he was. Mary wanted him to compromise. Dutch wanted for him to look for better. It should have been obvious who was really on his side to start with. 

“I’m such a fool…” Arthur said above a whisper as Dutch pulled the washcloth away from his face and dropped it back in the bucket of water. 

“You ain’t a fool.” Dutch sighed as he pulled a couple shot glasses from his satchel and started pouring drinks for both of them. “Love can make a man do all manner of things. Most men in your position would’ve picked the girl.”

Arthur shook his head. “I couldn’t choose her over y’all.”

“It’s a good thing, too,” Dutch said as he handed Arthur his shot, which he downed as soon as it was given to him. “The best place for you is here with us. We only want what’s best for you.”

“I know,” Arthur mumbled as Dutch refilled his glass. He knocked it back again, the liquor burning his throat more on the second round than on the first. 

“I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak,” Dutch replied as he took his shot, face scrunching up at the burn before he exhaled loudly and filled his glass back up. “I know it can’t be easy for you, but it’ll get better, son.” And then he put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he looked him in the eye. “Just give it some time. You’ll be okay.”

They drank in relative silence for another hour or so as Arthur struggled to fight back more tears, misery washing over him in waves. The alcohol helped a little in making him numb, but not as much as he wished for. He got drunk enough to where standing was a struggle, and when Arthur’s head kept lolling onto his chest as he dozed a bit on the log he sat on, Dutch decided to help him to bed. He fumbled with assisting Arthur in removing his boots but finally managed, dumping them on the ground at the foot of Arthur’s cot. Copper jumped up next to him as Arthur laid down, giving him a few slobbery dog kisses that made the smallest hint of a smile tug at Arthur’s lips for a few moments. 

Dutch tucked Arthur in, though he was growing much too old for that kind of thing. His mentor leaned down and tucked some of Arthur’s hair behind his ear before kissing him on the forehead, another thing usually only Hosea indulged him and John in. “Sleep tight, Arthur.” Dutch slurred quietly with a fond look on his face. “You’ll feel a little better in the morning.”

Arthur nodded a little, doubting it, still hurting fiercely, but willing to not mention it to placate Dutch’s hopes for him. “Night…” He yawned, the booze and lack of sleep as of recent fogging over his sadness. He didn’t have the energy to let misery win over him tonight.

“Goodnight, my boy,” Dutch replied, then stumbled out of Arthur’s tent to his own.

Copper whined a few times, picking up on Arthur’s emotions as he always seemed able to do. Arthur sighed heavily as he gave the dog a few scratches behind the ear. Then, he closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quite decide if I dodged a bullet, or rushed through Arthur and Mary's engagement too fast. 
> 
> I also can't decide just yet on what my opinion of Mary is, as I have very mixed feelings about her. I mean, she's not really wrong for not wanting to go gallavant around with a bunch of wanted men, but the way she treats Arthur in the game is a little appalling. 
> 
> Regardless, I didn't start writing this fic for their relationship, as I feel that they just weren't really meant for each other, and even if they were, it ends bitterly, anyway. The only reason it had any part in this fic at all is because it's canon, so I felt like I had to include it. 
> 
> I don't know, lemme know what you guys thought. I always look forward to y'all's feedback. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, stay safe and healthy <3


	33. A Big Mouth Will Get You Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns the hard way why he shouldn't mouth off at strangers. Arthur, unfortunately, pays for John's actions, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be a chapter before this that showcased right after Mary and Arthur's break up, but I just got so tired of writing it. I think I clarified well enough last chapter that he's miserable, I don't need to ramble on for four thousand words about just how miserable he is. I'm sure you all understand by now my interpretations and characterizations of the fam, I'm certain you're all more than intelligent enough to fill in the gaps with your own headcanons about how Arthur took it, how he shared the horrible news, how everyone reacted to it, etc.
> 
> This chapter is also shorter, because the pacing called for it. About half the length of most chapters I write. It's also in John's POV.
> 
> With all that said, I hope y'all enjoy the chapter. Please leave a comment if you do, as they inspire me to get chapters out faster.

John had an issue with people.

The main reason he disliked basically everyone outside their group was that he knew the kind of evils man was capable of. Most experiences he had with others left a sour taste in his mouth, at best. At worst, it repelled him from getting too close or letting his guard down. He did his best to stay far from strangers, unwilling to put himself in danger, even if it meant braving everything alone.

He’d been hesitant, at first, when Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur saved his life that night a little over a year ago. Even though he would have choked to death if not for them, he’d had enough run-ins with people who meant nothing but harm. He had to get used to the world being hostile towards him since being shoved in the orphanage after his father died. The instances in which John had to keep learning that fact over and over just made the trust issues run deeper. If their small family hadn’t shown abundant care like they had when John fell into their lives, he would’ve tucked tail and ran as fast as possible.

_ Probably wouldn’t have gotten real far, _ he thought, remembering just how weak from hunger he’d been that night (and many before).

He was quick to snap at outsiders. If someone he didn’t know looked in his general direction for too long, John was like a rattlesnake, spitting venom. When he was on his own, and near someone foreign to him, John would have slinked away, or at least tried being as unobtrusive as possible. With the confidence of always having someone he trusted nearby, whether it be Arthur, Dutch, Hosea, Bessie, Susan, Annabelle- or even Uncle, for all that was worth- he was no longer afraid to keep folk he didn’t know far away with harsh words.

He knew he shouldn’t do such things, but it was instinct. Tried and true, everyone’s reaction to a thirteen-year-old boy cursing them out was to make a few appalled comments before getting as far from him as they could. Very rarely, they’d make a move to try and do something even meaner than John’s words, but now there was always someone to step in and save his dumb ass from being turned into a puddle on the ground.

Now that he thought back on it, though, it was a pretty dangerous habit to pick up in the first place. Completely counter-productive in getting what he wanted, which was never to have to deal with anyone outside of their group.

John started his day like he would any other. He got up, then dressed, gun belt and all. He had started dual-wielding lessons just two days ago, courtesy of Dutch, who was still blown away by John’s shooting skills. Because of tight funds, he ended up practicing with Arthur’s first Cattleman revolver that he’d inherited in one hand, and one of Dutch’s Schofields in the other.

He had breakfast and then started on chores. With Arthur hiding away in his tent more often than not since he and Mary broke up a little under two weeks ago, John had to pick up his slack. He didn’t mind all that much, but chopping firewood was still rather arduous work, and the horses weren’t as fond of him as they were Arthur.

Boadicea, and April, Bessie’s horse, were fine with John. The Duke didn’t like him to get too close, and Onyx wouldn’t let John brush him. Boy was, of course, the most cooperative, and John couldn’t ask for a better steed. Susan’s horse, Lady, was the worst, had tried more times than he could count to crush him to death, or bite him. Uncle’s mare, Nell, would trot off whenever John came over, apparently uninterested in being fed or brushed if not by Uncle, or, more often than not, Arthur.

But John got through the chores, albeit soaked in sweat by the time he was done, and thinking he could do to go back to bed already from how sore his arms were after holding the heavy hatchet they used to cut firewood.

Arthur somehow mustered the strength to join everyone by the fire around about noon. His hat was nowhere to be seen, sandy blond locks all mussed up and his eyes puffy. No one said anything about it, just gave a few small greetings that Arthur quietly reciprocated. 

They were about to have lunch when Miss Grimshaw looked through their food stock and noticed they were running low. She, Dutch, and Hosea discussed it for a few moments before Hosea said, “Why don’t we send the boys into town?”

Arthur and John’s attention had immediately piqued at the mention of them. “You sure that’s the best idea?” Arthur asked.

Dutch crossed his arms with a curious look on his face. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Arthur gestured at John. “You know the kid bites. He’s gonna give someone rabies someday.”

“Hey!” John exclaimed back, bristling up, offended. “I ain’t got rabies! And I don’t bite!”

“Coulda fooled me.” Arthur quipped back, but the usual jest in his tone he usually used to tease was distant. The fact he was making jokes at all was a miracle, honestly.

“Arthur,” Hosea spoke up, a bit firmly. 

Arthur sighed. “Yeah, ‘Sea?”

“It’d be good for you to get out of camp. You’ve been cooped up here for two weeks now.” Hosea said. Arthur sighed again, though it was more like a tired huff. 

“Well, why I gotta take the boy with me?” Arthur asked, standing to his feet. He’d clearly already come to terms that he was gonna go pick up supplies whether he wanted or not. Why he was trying so hard to not go with John was beyond him.

“There’s strength in numbers,” Hosea replied, and it was evident in his voice he wasn’t gonna argue Arthur any further on this. 

“Fine.” Arthur conceded, throwing a hand in the air as he turned on his heel and started for his tent. “Go get ready, John.”

John did as he was told if only because arguing with Hosea was a near-impossible task. He grabbed his satchel, filled his canteen, and shoved it in there. He grabbed a few extra bullets, which he put in the loops on his belt meant precisely for that purpose. By the time he got done getting ready, Arthur had gotten his things, hat and all. Miss Grimshaw had the supply wagon facing towards the exit of camp, and as she climbed down from the seat, Arthur took her place. “Come on, John, let’s get this over with.”

John gave a nod and tried to hop up on the wagon. After some struggling, Arthur held out his arm, and John grasped tightly around his wrist as Arthur pulled him up onto the wagon bench. 

“Here’s the list.” Miss Grimshaw said as she handed a slip of paper with some fancy handwriting on it to Arthur, who put it in his satchel. “Same stuff as usual.”

“The money where it usually is?” Arthur asked boredly as he pulled a cigarette out and lit it.

“Back of the bed of the wagon, in the box, yes,” Susan replied. 

“Be safe, boys,” Hosea called to them. 

“Be home before dark,” Bessie added.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, we know.” He mumbled. Then, he gave a crack of the reigns and a ‘yah,’ and they drove away from camp.

July was here, and with it, brought scorching days. They’d been spoiled last summer, being in that hotel, out of the sun’s harsh heat, or, at least, John consistently had. He was starting to acclimate to the high temperatures again, relearning all he’d known before about living in the Illinois wilderness. Arthur was probably already long used to it, having spent a good portion of his life by now running with Dutch and Hosea. Before John was there, the most time they’d ever spent in a building, rather than under canvas, was a few months to wait out the cold of late autumn and the entirety of winter. Because of him, they stayed in that hotel for over a year. Arthur and Hosea had been the most vocal in their unhappiness with being stuck there for so long.

John looked around as they rolled past dense forest, eyes darting rapidly around as he scanned for possible threats. Living in the woods for a year taught him to be cautious and wary at all times, knowing danger could lurk in unknown shadows. That feller he killed at the homestead he’d nearly died at was a testament to that. John hadn’t seen him coming, forgetting everything he knew because his gaze was hungrily glued to the hen that he attempted to steal, stomach grumbling. That one slip up, made purely by accident, had nearly cost him his life. He was at a place now where he didn’t have to worry too much about it, undistracted by things like starvation, dehydration, and general malaise. Still, he knew not to trust anything. Not even camp was a hundred percent safe, regardless of the precautions they took. 

The first ten minutes or so of the ride was completely silent, and John fidgeted awkwardly in his seat as he glanced Arthur over for the first time since he and everyone else got back from town last week. The bags under his eyes seemed darker than they already had been, and the fact that he hadn’t been eating right was starting to show on his face. He had a sour look about him, more so than usual.

“So… have you drawn anything lately?” John asked, trying to make conversation.

“No.”

The reply was curt, and John sat there for a moment before he replied, “Why not?”

“Don’t wanna.”

Arthur clearly didn’t want to talk, but John hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with him properly for a while now. He’d been so busy before, rarely home. Now, he’d been home for two weeks straight, John had been back for a week of that time and had barely seen him. Arthur retreated to his tent as soon as he’d shared the bad news of him and Mary breaking off their relationship. He only left it when he had to.

“Could we go fishing tomorrow?”

Arthur looked at him with a bit of a face. “Thought you was scared of the water?”

“I am,” John said. “But, you can swim, so you can save me if I fall in.”

Arthur looked back at the road as he rolled his eyes. “Maybe.” He finally answered. 

And, silent again. John sat there for another ten minutes or so, wondering if Arthur would eventually get around to starting a conversation himself, but he didn’t. So, John broke the silence again to ask, “Do you wanna talk about i-”

“No.” Arthur cut him off. 

“It might make you feel be-”

“Already talked with Dutch and Hosea,” Arthur muttered as he gave a snap of the reigns. “Didn’t make a lick of difference.”

“Well, maybe if you talked to me, it would,” John said optimistically. 

“It won’t,” Arthur replied as his frown deepened. “Ya can’t just fix everythin’ by  _ talking _ about it. Shit sucks. End of story.”

John sank in his seat. “Sorry.” He mumbled. “Was just tryin’ to help…”

“Appreciate that, but you can’t,” Arthur replied shortly, and then they were silent again. John decided not to press his luck. 

He glanced around them some more, and, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two riders coming up behind them. John tugged on Arthur’s sleeve, and when Arthur looked down at him, John pointed as subtly as he could. Arthur looked, trying not to be obvious. “What?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

“They look like bad news to you?” John asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Arthur answered. “Keep your cool.”

John sat there and fought not to look back at the two men again as the hoofbeats drew closer. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt even more panicky as the two riders slowed down to a trot on either side of their wagon. 

“Hello, there, fellers.” The one man said, the one on Arthur’s side of the wagon.

“Howdy,” Arthur said. Not too friendly, not too confrontational. 

“What you boys up to?” The one on John’s side asked. 

“Gettin’ supplies,” Arthur answered. 

“What’s it to ya?” John asked.

“Well, ya know,” The man on John’s side said, “gonna be hard to buy supplies if we rob you, now, ain’t it?”

“There’s only two of you.” John spat back, glaring at him. “We can handle ourselves. You’ll both end up with a bullet if you don’t turn around and leave us alone.”

Arthur looked well and ready to ignore the ruffians and just keep driving, so long as no shots started. He’d probably had to deal with this kind of thing a lot of times by now and on his own. 

“That ain’t a very nice thing to say.” The man on Arthur’s side tutted. “You better control your little brother there, pal.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Arthur said. “Now, if you gents wouldn’t mind goin’ and findin’ another mark?” He added, then sped the wagon up. 

John heard horses come out of the forest on both sides of them, and more riders came trotting up to the side of their wagon. The men from before picked the pace up and drew their guns as John and Arthur were surrounded. They suddenly shot the horses pulling their wagon, and the boys went tumbling along with it, ending up knocked to the dirt as the riders pulled in even closer around them. Looking up as a cloud of dirt blocked his vision, John counted at least ten of them. 

He and Arthur choked on the dust, trying to regain their senses when one of the men gripped up on Arthur by his jacket. “John, ru-” Arthur was cut off before he could finish what he was saying, the man holding him slamming the butt of his gun against Arthur’s temple, knocking him out cold. 

John tried to scramble to his feet but was kicked in the side hard by one of them. He kicked at ankles and struggled as he was pinned to the ground, baring his teeth as he growled, “Get off me! Leave us alone, ya sons of bitches!”

The man that knocked Arthur out knelt down as John kept struggling against their captors. Without even a word, just a smug grin that John would have loved to wipe off the bastard’s face, he smacked John in the back of the head with his gun, and the world went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3


	34. The Great Escape

Arthur woke to a dull pounding in his head, and his wrists bound with rope to a pipe. The world filtered in slowly through his mental fog. As he became more aware, panic started to settle in; only growing worse when he saw John unconscious, tied to a chair with a nasty bump sprouting from his temple.

His breathing picked up as he struggled against the rope holding him. Just like in the past, wriggling against the binds did no good, and left him with sore wrists by the time he gave up a minute or two later. The futility of his actions and their current situation made Arthur feel sick to his stomach. He’d been through this once, and that was scary enough, being on his own. With John there, though, it was a hundred times worse. Arthur's heart thundered loud as galloping horses as he looked for a way out. His and John's gear was on the other side of the room, far out of reach, if they  _ could _ reach. The only window in the room was boarded up tight, definitely no prying the boards off even if he could manage to get out of the restraints. The door was likely locked, or at least there was probably a guard outside. There was nothing on the floor near where he was sat that looked like it would be useful in getting the rope off. 

_ Gotta get the boy outta here, _ he repeatedly thought, as if repeating what he already knew would make a solution appear. Arthur didn't give a damn what happened to him, so long as John got out of there. 

Why'd the kid have to run his mouth? It was John's snarkiness that made those fellers attack the way they had. If John hadn't given them so much lip, the whole altercation could have been dealt with in a firefight, and then they might have stood a chance. Because John wanted to make it so personal, though, these guys answered accordingly. Or, to their standards, anyway. 

_ Dutch and Hosea will find us, _ he hoped, though a part of him doubted. How far from their camp near Ravenbranch were they? Hosea wouldn't even be able to use his keen tracking skills to find them; Arthur could hear it raining outside, so any tracks made by their wagon or their captors' horses were washed away now. 

After about ten minutes of fruitlessly tugging at his binds, looking for escape, and wishing John weren't such a fool, the kid groaned and lifted his head. "Where...?"

"Shut it." Arthur hissed quietly, a little too harshly, maybe. He didn't want any of the fellers holding them to know they were up. Like Arthur, John tugged at the rope that was holding him. It, of course, didn't budge. "That ain't gonna work."

"Where are we?" John asked as he looked around the room, voice shaking, and chest heaving in fear. His dark eyes were wide and wild, and he looked as scared and small as he did the night they found him. 

"No idea," Arthur replied honestly. "Stay quiet, and keep your head. We're gonna get out of this."

John nodded but stopped short when there were heavy footsteps outside the door to the room. They both held their breath as they heard the clinking of a key in a lock, and the door swung open. 

One of the men holding them hostage strode in with a shit-eating grin, cigarette hanging loosely out his mouth, thumbs hooked into his gun belt. Arthur and John both shot him a dirty look. He was a real ugly feller, with busted, blackened teeth, beady little eyes, and greasy brown hair that fell to his shoulders. "Well, well, well! Look who's awake. Welcome back to the land of the livin' boys."

"Fuck you." John spat, apparently having learned nothing. Though, as things were, Arthur couldn't blame him. 

"That kinda language ain't very becoming of someone as young as you." Their captor said as he walked over to John, leaned down, and got in the boy's face. John glared at him almost fearlessly. "How old is you, anyway? Ten?"

"I'm thirteen!" John lashed out. "Not that it's any of your goddamn business."

The feller put his hands up in mock defeat before turning on his heel and started to pace the room between Arthur and John. "You boys wouldn't be in this mess if not for your big mouth, kid." He said, turning to John again. "You were anyone else, we'd have just shot ya."

"What you mean, 'anyone else'?" John asked, looking like he was only getting more and more aggravated by the moment. Arthur decided it best to keep his mouth shut, for now, anyway. 

"You boys was armed to the teeth and hardly bothered by us." The man said. "Clearly, y'all ain't a couple o’ farm or city folk."

"What you think that makes us, then?" John prodded further.

"Y'all must be runnin' in a gang." Their captor answered. "Me and my men don't like how close to our territory we found ya. So, we took you alive to get some answers."

"You won't get shit out of us," John told him.

“Oh, I think I could inspire at least one of you to spill.” The feller said, almost sounding bored. He walked over to Arthur and got in his face next. Like John, Arthur glared at him fiercely, wishing looks could kill as effectively as bullets. Unfortunately, it was utterly useless, like talking to a brick wall or getting Dutch to shut his mouth when he was drunk. Or, getting Dutch to shut his mouth, in general. “My name’s Grant. What’s yours, big guy?”

Arthur said nothing. Just kept staring the man down.

“Strong, silent type, huh?” Grant asked. He leaned away from Arthur, started pacing back and forth in front of him. “Who you boys runnin’ with?”

“We ain’t gonna tell you, you dumb bastard.” John hissed. 

“Quiet, boy, the grown-ups are talkin’,” Grant replied, not even having the courtesy to look at John as he spoke to him. “Assumin’ this one even  _ is _ a grown-up.”

Arthur would have usually been bothered by that sort of thing, and he still was, but his mouth remained shut. He thinned his lips into a line as a biting remark threatened to spill from them. 

“We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” Grant said as he kept circling Arthur like vultures did a corpse. “‘Course, we’re gonna kill you both either way, but if you tell me what I wanna know,  _ maybe _ I’ll make it quick and painless. Though, you’ve both already given me so much hassle.”

“He ain’t even said nothin’!” John exclaimed. 

“That’s the problem!” Grant replied. “If either of you’d cooperate, we’d be done here already. All I wanna know is where your gang is hidin’.”

“We ain’t in no  _ gang, _ mister,” John said. “We’re a  _ family. _ ”

“Oh, how  _ sweet. _ ” Grant mocked in a sing-song voice. “Do forgive me, boys. I didn’t know there was any difference from a  _ gang _ of outlaws and a  _ family _ of them.”

“Well, there  _ is. _ Idiot.” John growled. 

The man, Grant, entirely ignored John. He kept pacing around Arthur with a smug smirk as if he could force the answers out of him. “So, then, tough guy. Where’s your  _ family _ holed up?”

“Go to Hell.” Arthur spat. “Like the boy said, we ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

Grant recoiled, as though he’d actually expected Arthur to give him an answer. Then, his smug grin grew, and he said, “Really, that’s how you wanna play it?” When Arthur said nothing, continued to glare at the man, Grant’s ugly smile grew even still, showing off all his messed up teeth. “Well, then. You asked for it.”

The man struck like a snake, pulling back his fist and driving it into Arthur’s jaw. Arthur had no time to brace for the blow. He groaned in pain as his head snapped back and hit the metal pipe behind him, echoing in his ears as his jaw throbbed. His head ached more than it already had from that rifle smack he took.

“I’ll ask again,” Grant said, not even waiting until Arthur had regained his senses. “Where are they?” He growled.

Arthur wheezed a laugh at him. “You call that a punch, buddy?” He asked. “My daddy hit me harder’n that with a broken arm.”

Their captor bared his teeth, smile long gone, replaced with a sneer. He pulled back and drove his fist into Arthur’s chest this time, knocking the wind out of him. He could hear the squeak of John’s chair on the floorboards. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”

“Hurt? Who’s hurt?” Arthur gasped. “This bastard hits like a wimp.”

Grant grabbed a fistful of Arthur’s hair and smacked his head against the metal pipe,  _ hard. _ “ _ Where are they?! _ ” He yelled as Arthur wheezed and whined. 

“Stop!!” John cried out again, sounding even more frantic in his pointless endeavor of breaking free. “Leave my brother alone, you son of a bitch!”

Grant snapped his head around to look back at John, his rough grip on Arthur’s hair disappearing as he shoved Arthur to the floor. “Your turn, then, huh?” He asked sadistically, turning on his heel and starting slowly toward the chair John was tied to. Arthur’s vision swam from the blows he’d taken, and as he heard the man grow closer to John, he pulled desperately at his binds with as much fight as he could. The rope rubbed at his skin and made it feel raw, and though he knew it to be pointless, he kept fighting, anyway.

His vision started clearing as Grant reached the other side of the room where John was, and he watched helplessly as their captor cut John free from the chair, just to grab him by the throat and slam him on the floor. John yelped and struggled as he was pinned down, wriggling as his arms and legs were trapped under the man's weight. 

“Get offa him…!” Arthur slurred with as much conviction as possible while their captor continuously assaulted John, who yelped and wailed. “Get the  _ fuck _ off him!”

As his vision cleared more, and the physical trauma grew easier to ignore in favor of saving John, Arthur pulled even more against the binds and heard the pipe start to give from his rage-filled struggle. The man must not have heard it over John’s cries, laying into him with seemingly all he had, filling Arthur with more anger than he could ever remember feeling before.

Arthur didn’t manage to get out of the rope, but the pipe broke off the wall. Grant barely had a chance to register it before Arthur had wrapped his hands around it as well as he could, with them still being bound to it. He swung with all his might and knocked the man in the head, and Grant’s skull caved immediately. Though, Arthur still bashed it in a few more times for good measure, chest heaving with effort and adrenaline as blood pooled on the floor around what was once a head. 

With one of their captors dead, Arthur’s focus shifted to John, who was curled up on the floor. His nose was bleeding heavily, and he had bruises already starting to form on his face and neck. He shook like a leaf, and his breath hitched with sobs as tears spilled down his cheeks. “John.” Arthur breathed softly, kneeling on the floor next to him. John looked up at him with watery eyes. “We gotta go, we can’t stay here.” He continued, glancing back and forth between the battered boy beneath him and the door. Arthur wanted so badly to offer some words of comfort, but there wasn’t time. They had to  _ leave.  _

John nodded quickly, and Arthur helped him to his feet. They rushed for their gear as they heard loud stomping approaching up a flight of creaky stairs.  _ “Goddamn it, Grant, you better have gotten some info out of those bastards!” _ A man yelled from the other side of the door. As quickly as he could, Arthur cut the ropes holding his hands together, John thankfully having the sense to gently lower the pipe to the floor, rather than let it drop; they had to do this as quietly as possible. 

Arthur and John pressed up against the wall next to the door. “When he comes in here, I’m gonna deal with him,” Arthur told John quietly. “Run for any exit you can find, stay low. Don’t run in a straight line; zig-zag. Don’t let anyone grab up on you, or get cornered.”

John nodded again. “O-okay.”

“Don’t look back, neither,” Arthur said, even softer as the footsteps grew closer. “I’ll be right behind ya.”

“Alright…” John replied hesitantly.

They waited with bated breath as another one of their captors kept approaching. The door swung open, and Arthur instantly grabbed the man in a chokehold, snapping his neck. He lowered the corpse to the floor and signaled John to get moving. John didn’t waste any time, scrambling out of the room, crouched low. Arthur was right behind him as he said he’d be.

He drew his guns as a shot whizzed over his head, and another feller yelled, “They got free!”

John and Arthur moved even faster, eventually reaching the bottom of the stairs as a hailstorm of munitions rained around them. John was ducking and weaving behind any kind of cover he could find, Arthur doing much the same right behind him as he laid down covering fire, peaking his head up now and then to respond to the barrage of bullets flying over their heads. Arthur vaguely felt his arm get grazed, but fight-or-flight was winning over, numbing the sensation as he kept going. 

As soon as John slipped out the front door, he immediately stood and ran faster, still zig-zagging around until he found cover behind a nearby tree. Arthur took two men down with deadly accuracy, leaving only three left; some of the other men must have been away. He could remember there being a dozen or so of them. He ducked behind cover and reloaded his revolver quicker than he could ever recall doing so, before running out of the building himself, sliding into cover behind a rock. 

The three outlaws left ran out of the house in pursuit of them, and as they took cover behind some crates, Arthur noticed near the side of the house, was a big, bright, red one.  _ Dynamite. _

He dug through his satchel and found a fire bottle, looked at John, and pointed to it as best he could. When the enemies took time to reload, John popped his head out just barely for a second, and Arthur could see in his eyes that John immediately understood what he was gonna do. John ducked back into cover as a bullet hit the tree  _ way _ too close for comfort. Arthur struck a match against his boot, lit the rag stuffed in the bottle of strong liquor, and then threw it towards the red crate.

_ BOOM. _

The screams of agony from their captors were, at first, muffled by the explosion's sound. Once that passed, the boys poked their heads out to see that the men were burning alive, their pained shrieks echoing off the nearby mountains as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The house had caught fire as well, and despite how hard it was raining, none of the flames were quelled. 

Arthur and John began to catch their breath as the outlaws perished in the inferno. Over the fire’s sound, though, they heard galloping horses and angry yells in the near distance. 

“Into the forest, go,” Arthur told John as quietly as he could. John immediately listened and sprinted into the woods behind them, still never looking back. Arthur was close behind him. It was nighttime, and with dark clouds hanging overhead, there wasn’t any moonlight to guide them. They ran as quickly and quietly as they could, tripping here and there. Arthur kept peering over his shoulder to see if anyone was following them. The angry voices grew louder, and Arthur couldn’t tell if that was because they were close, or because there was so many of them. He tripped on a tree root and went flying into the dirt, hitting the ground with a groan. John immediately backpedaled, offering a hand to help him up. Arthur took it even though he lifted himself, for the most part, and as soon as he was back on his feet, they kept running. 

The voices were growing further away with every few feet they ran, gasping for air as they kept pushing. The brothers reached a rock wall and stumbled on their feet for a few moments as the pair struggled to see anywhere else they could run to in the pitch-black forest. The voices started getting closer again as they stood there and tried to think.

“Tree,” John said quietly before he started scrambling up one. Arthur wasn’t as agile as John, the branches were slippery, but it felt the only option, so he climbed as quickly as he could up the tree next to the one John was in. 

They stayed still as statues as lights and angry men grew closer, finding each other in the darkness every few moments. The men were soon right under them, lifting their lanterns as they yelled above the rain and looked around. Even with lanterns, the woods were still far too dark for them to see through the thick leaves that kept John and Arthur in shadows. If it were winter, this wouldn’t have worked. 

“Shit!” One of them yelled, and it startled John something fierce, his foot slipping on the branch he was on. He managed to get his balance back as fast as he’d lost it, and still didn’t make a sound. “They got away!”

“Whatever.” One of the others said, an aggravated edge to his voice. “Bastards won’t make it five minutes out here, anyway.”

“They burned our goddamn base down and killed seven of our men!”

“Who cares, man? If they couldn’t take a brat and some dumb cowboy, we don’t need them on our team, anyway!”

A few more obscenities were exchanged before the men finally rode away. John and Arthur waited a few more minutes before cautiously climbing down. They were soaking wet, battered, bruised, bloody, hungry, and lost. Arthur began to feel where his arm had been grazed. With their eyes adjusted to the darkness, John spotted it as soon as they were reunited. “Arthur, you’re bleeding…!”

“Just a scratch.” Arthur gritted out as he held his arm, trying to put pressure on the wound. “Can’t worry ‘bout that right this moment. We need to find shelter.”

They trudged through the dark, wet woods for quite a while before finally deeming themselves deep enough to pull out a lantern and not be seen. After walking for a little under a mile, they found a small cave in the rock wall. With no other option and Arthur bleeding like a stuck pig, they had to bunk down for the night. 

As soon as they were sat, Arthur immediately dug through his satchel and pulled out the few medical supplies he carried on him for times like this. The sewing kit Bessie had given him, a flask of moonshine to sterilize, and some clean rags for bandaging. Arthur took his wet jacket off and put his hat on John’s head to make the kid stop shaking from the cold so much. Most of your body heat escapes from your head and feet, Hosea had once told him. He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it down just enough to get to the wound on his arm. It wasn’t that deep, but would still be an issue if not dealt with quickly. Infection was nasty business, and Arthur wasn’t trying to add gangrene or amputation to his current problems. Thankfully, none of John’s injuries were too horrible. John didn’t need medical attention, just time to heal. 

His hands shook as he tried to put a thread through the eye of a needle. “Here, let me.” John offered quietly. Arthur passed the needle and thread off to John begrudgingly, picking up the flask of moonshine and soaking a rag with it, before pressing it against the gash. It stung like Hell, but he gritted his teeth and bared it. John was still shaking pretty severely, as well, but managed to get the thread through the needle. When Arthur pulled the rag away, John started sewing the wound shut. 

John’s suturing skills were surprisingly good, and he left barely any room between the stitches, making sure it was sealed up tight. “Who taught you to sew a wound up?”

“I taught myself,” John responded softly.

“Hm.” Arthur hummed, not prodding any further. “... Are you okay…?”

John stopped suturing for a long moment, before he continued and answered, “Well, we’re still breathin’...”

“Just about.” Arthur agreed. John finished stitching Arthur up and cut the excess thread off. He wrapped a rag around Arthur’s arm and tied it off so it would stay in place. “You need anythin’...?”

“Food and water,” John replied shortly. He dug his canteen out of his pack as Arthur pulled a couple of salted venison pieces out of his satchel, gave one to John, and tore into the other one himself. They ate in silence for a few long minutes, listening to the rain dying down outside. Looking out into the woods, there was nothing but darkness beyond their little lantern. They both kept their eyes wide open, hardly blinking as they stayed alert for further possible threats. Be it man or beast. “... What are we gonna do…?” John asked, just above a whisper as he finished his food. 

“I dunno,” Arthur answered honestly, just as quiet. 

John curled in on himself, head tucked between his knees, hidden under Arthur’s hat that was much too large for him. “This is my fault…”

“Those fellers was gonna do whatever they wanted to us, whether you’d gone and run your mouth, or not. Some folk are just plain evil.”

John lifted his head again, though he still kept his legs drawn to his chest. “You… Bashed that man’s head in.”

Arthur stared at the ground. “I… Didn’t scare you, did I…?”

He saw John shake his head out the corner of his eye. “Not you, just… The sight of it.”

“Hm.”

“Do you think Dutch and Hosea could find us...?”

Arthur shook his head. “Rain washed away the tracks, I’m sure.”

“Oh… right.” John sighed. “... We’re gonna die out here…”

“No, we ain’t,” Arthur said with determination. “We ain’t got much, and we’re who the Hell knows where, but we’ve both already made it with less before, and in way worse conditions. And like Hosea said, there’s strength in numbers.”

“Ain’t gonna matter if we catch pneumonia or get mauled by wolves.”

“Stop talkin’ like that.” Arthur scolded gently. “I told you we’d get outta this. We’re still  _ gonna _ make it out of this.”

“... Promise…?”

“Can’t do a thing like that.” Arthur denied him that, knowing it wasn’t  _ really _ up to him, in the long run. “But we’ll definitely die if we don’t at least attempt it.”

John nodded a little. “Okay.”

“We’ll make a plan in the morning,” Arthur said with a yawn. “We need rest if we’re gonna be goin’ anywhere.”

John didn’t say another word. Neither did Arthur. They curled up together for warmth, though it didn’t do much, given they were soaked to the bone. At least they had some semblance of a roof over their head. Even with the conditions as horrible as they were, they were exhausted, so they fell asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History fact: Pipes in houses were basically non-existent in the 1880's... But ignore that because this is a work of fiction and I couldn't think of many other ways to write That Scene.
> 
> Does it make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things? I don't really think so. This fic is still gonna be sooooooo much longer, that kind of tiny little discrepancy is like a drop in an ocean. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all liked the chapter. Stay safe and healthy, cowbros <3


	35. Look To The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After wandering around lost for a little, John thinks he knows a way to get him and Arthur home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this fic is getting closer to 4,000 hits every day. As I write this note, there's currently 3,954 hits, making it my most read work to date. Thank you cowbros so much!! <3
> 
> That being said, I make drafts for new chapters as soon as I finish and post the last one, so by the time this is up, it probably will be 4,000, or at least close enough to where I otherwise wouldn't get to thank y'all until after the fact. So, thank you, in advance. Thank you all, as well, for nearly 200 kudos! That's still some bits away, but as this fic will still be much longer, I'm sure I'll hit it soon enough. 
> 
> Sorry for rambling, lol. Please enjoy the chapter. <3

Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the trees outside of the small cave as Arthur awoke. His mouth was horribly dry, and he just about emptied his canteen before his thirst was anywhere near quenched. John lay next to him, sound asleep. In the light of day, Arthur took a look at all the bruises on John’s battered face.

Thankfully, the kid’s nose hadn’t been broken, and their captor hadn’t had enough time to make any cuts on him. Though the hand marks on his neck looked awful, and Arthur had to wonder just how hard the son of a bitch had squeezed when he grabbed John and threw him to the floor. As far as his own injuries, Arthur’s face still throbbed from that punch to the jaw, and his arm burned where the bullet had grazed him. Taking a quick look at it, it hadn’t gotten infected, nor had it broken open, or any of the stitches ripped. So long as the sutures didn’t come loose, and he didn’t get any dirt in it, it should be fine. 

He pulled his pocket watch out to see that it was already nearing seven in the evening. The sun would begin to set in a little under an hour. Arthur had no idea when he and John had come to in that house last night, nor when they finally laid down to sleep in the small cave. Either way, they’d slept the entire day away, and would now have to wait until tomorrow to start actually making their way home. 

Arthur pulled his map out and looked at it, but it was useless with no way of knowing where they were. He had no clue which direction home was in, how far away it was. He had no way of knowing if there were any water sources nearby or towns. They could be miles and miles away from their camp near Ravenbranch. Would it take them a day to get home? A week? A month? Worst of all, he didn’t even have his compass on him; he had left it at home when he and John were sent to get supplies. They’d only been headed to town, and Arthur had already been to and from Ravenbranch enough to know his way around. He wouldn’t have needed a compass, didn’t expect to need one, anyway. It was a wonder he’d brought his map with, but it was, again, useless without knowing where on it they were. 

He took inventory of both his and John’s satchels. Only Arthur had thought to bring any food, they had maybe another day’s worth if they had small meals. Both their canteens only had a few sips of water left in them. John didn’t have a compass, to begin with, as neither Hosea nor Dutch had gotten him one yet. Arthur’s small collection of makeshift medical supplies was dwindling after taking care of his arm last night. He had some medicine, which would help if either of them got sick or hurt, but there was only enough for one dose. He was also down to his last few cigarettes- not that smokes were absolutely imperative, but it did sour his mood a little to see that those definitely wouldn’t last the rest of the journey. 

If they were going to make it, they’d have to find a water source, fast. They also needed to somehow hunt, though Arthur had no idea how that was gonna work when all they had on them was their sidearms and knives. No fishing rods, no bows or arrows, no rifles. Arthur was running low on matches and left his flint at home, as well, so making a fire was gonna be a hassle. Not to mention, with the rain last night, finding any wood to burn would be nigh impossible for the next few days, anyway.

They were as bad off as Arthur had been when he left home after Lyle was killed, and the thought of that scared him something fierce. All the knowledge had now felt practically pointless, considering the minimal arsenal of tools at their disposal. Then there was the fact that, when Arthur had been on his own, he’d stayed in the same spot every night. Knowing town was only a mile away, and that there was a river nearby. Then, as soon as he joined Dutch and Hosea, he was taught to use a map and compass to use landmarks to navigate. They were always close to a town, too, and always camped next to a water source or real close. He’d barely left their sides until he turned eighteen, but even when he did, Arthur knew where he was, where home was, where town was, where water was. He had a fishing rod, a bow and arrows, and more than enough ways to make sure he lived. Oh, and a horse. They wouldn’t be as screwed right now if they had a horse. God, he missed Boadicea. And Charlie, but then, he probably always would. 

He and John would be not be staying in one spot. They were gonna be continually moving and through unknown territory. _ Moving where? _ He asked himself again and still didn’t know. He hadn’t ever been this lost in his entire life. 

He might not have been as fearful for the state of things if it were only him out here. If it were only him, he could stretch his food supply to last for a few days. But John was here, too, just as, if not more unprepared for this excursion as Arthur was. There was a likely very long walk ahead of them, and they barely had much more than the clothes on their backs. 

Arthur didn’t have much hope for them, frankly. _ “We’re gonna die out here,” _ John said last night, and Arthur had mentally agreed with him. Verbally, he told John they were gonna get home, and he wished more than anything that when John asked him to promise, he could have done so. But he couldn’t, because he knew even last night that they were in an awful way. 

Regardless of how likely he felt it was that they’d never make it home, he couldn’t have brought himself to tell John that, nor could he stand the thought of not trying, either. Giving up wasn’t an option, it would mean certain doom. As things were, they were breathing, their hearts were beating, and their legs weren’t broken. They had to at _ least _ try.

Everyone at home had to be worried out of their minds right now about them. Bessie was probably beside herself, Susan, likely running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Dutch and Hosea almost certainly didn’t get any sleep. Though, Uncle probably didn’t lose any. Arthur and John had promised to be back before sunset, and here it was, nearly evening the next day. And they hadn’t even started their journey yet. And if the group found the dead horses and destroyed wagon, they probably all thought the boys dead. The longer it took for John and Arthur to get back, the more real it would seem to them. What if he and John really _ didn’t _ ever make it back? What if they stayed lost until they died?

_ Stop thinking about that. Ain’t gonna get us a place to sleep or food in our guts. _

Right. Water. 

Hosea said that mountains commonly have springs. He and John were currently in a small cave in a rock wall that became a mountain. Outside was woods, and the creatures who lived there had to have water. There had to be water somewhere nearby. 

He had no idea what they could do about shelter. They couldn’t stay out in the open again. The nights were getting colder as summer was slowly beginning to die. But, they had no tent, and even if he’d managed to take down all the men who’d been holding them, the house had caught fire. To make matters worse, this would be an issue every day, for however long it took them to get home. _ Or die. _

_ Stop. _

Food. What were they going to do about food?

John had brought excess bullets with him, though he didn’t draw his weapon at all when they were in the heat of things last night. Poor kid was probably scared out of his mind; he hadn’t seen so much danger since they saved him from that hanging. John was safer in the rushing river he couldn’t swim in than last night, getting beat by a man twice his size, then shot at. Despite that, Arthur had no idea how long they’d be out here, so even though John grabbed a few handfuls of bullets on the way out, there was no way of knowing how many they would need. They had to conserve. 

On top of that, all they had were their revolvers and their knives. Hosea said it wasn’t a good idea to use handguns to kill small game, as it would likely ruin the meat. The bullets break up, and then you’re eating gunpowder with your rabbit. They shouldn’t kill big game, they had no way to preserve it, and there was only two of them. It’d be a waste. Dutch and Hosea had both told him to never take more from the land than what he needed. Don’t ever waste anything that you or someone else could use, and don’t overdo it. It was one of the first things they taught him. 

Hosea had taught him a lot about what plants were okay to eat, but plants alone wouldn’t cut it. They were going to be walking every day, for who knew how long, over who knew what kind of terrain? They needed the energy meats provided. Plants would keep them from dying, but only eating plants would make them slow down significantly from a lack of the right nutrients. 

They couldn’t fish, they had no fishing rods, no nets, no bait. Their hunting knives wouldn't be very useful, they’d have to get close to kill. Wildlife was perceptive as Hell, and most creatures ran faster than man, so that wasn’t really an option.

It would be hard for them to get food, and to make matters worse, they _ were _ food. They couldn’t run from a pack of wolves, or a bear, or cougar. Even if they somehow managed to obtain a horse, it wouldn’t be as brave as Boadicea. Knowing their luck, they’d come across a black bear, and though they were timid and skittish, horses were, too, and there would go their ride in the opposite direction of the bear. 

Arthur’s head was starting to hurt more from all the confusion and fear. With nothing currently trying to kill him, yet fighting a million battles, there was nothing to occupy his mind other than what they had to do, and what happened last night. 

The sight of that man, Grant’s, skull, caved in enough to see his brain, was a sight Arthur wouldn’t soon forget, nor watching those men burn to death. He had no sympathy for them, especially after Grant attacked John, and threatened their family, but it was still grotesque. He’d seen a lot of gruesome gore the past few years, but it never really got easier to witness. Easier to justify, to stomach, come to terms with, but not watch. 

He felt worse for John having no choice but to see it. And after all the violence, trauma, and running fearfully for their lives, John had to patch Arthur up. Arthur never had to deal with so much bullshit at thirteen, like John. His father had been a menace, sure. Lyle beat Arthur within an inch of his life plenty before he turned ten and told Arthur of the sickening ways he would kill folk. Last night, though… Was a living nightmare. 

Arthur sighed heavily as he kept staring at nothing and thinking of their current lot in life. Everything about _ this _ was a living nightmare. They were supposed to have gone grocery shopping and straight home, damn it. Not fought for their lives and ended up in the middle of nowhere with nothing. 

John woke a little under an hour into Arthur’s agonizing. He yawned as he pushed himself up from the ground, blinking his eyes open. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Arthur greeted back, one of his few cigarettes left hanging out his mouth as he wondered whether he should light it or not. 

“What time is it…?” John asked as he looked out at the sky and clouds turning orange, pink, and purple like it did when the sun started to set. Or, when it was rising. 

“‘Round seven PM,” Arthur answered, not bothering to fish his pocket watch out.

“Damn,” John said. 

“We gotta get movin’,” Arthur added. “Gotta find better shelter for the night.”

“Okay.” John agreed. 

They didn’t really have anything to pack, so, barely a minute later, he and John left the cave, then started walking. Where to, was anyone’s guess. With the sun not entirely down, it was still relatively warm, hot, even. Arthur slung his slightly damp jacket over his shoulder, and John kept Arthur’s hat for the time being, though it blocked his eyes from how big on him it was. They walked in silence for quite a while, listening to birds chirp evening songs, and the squelch of mud under their boots. Ever dimming sunlight filtered in through the leaves of the trees above them.

The world was starting to bathe in dim blue light by the time they finally got out of the woods. Before them was naught but open plains. Behind them, the forest, and the mountains. Arthur and John stopped in their tracks as they emerged from the thick of trees, scanning the area best they could in another night's growing darkness. Eventually, John’s squinted eyes seemed to lock onto something in the far distance. He pointed, and Arthur followed his finger and gaze. “Look, a house!”

Probably about a mile or so away, Arthur could just barely make out a square structure. “Good eye, Johnny,” Arthur told him, going to ruffle his hair when he realized his hat was still atop John’s head. “Let’s get moving, ain’t got much light left.”

They picked up the pace, losing visibility fast. Their only saving grace being it was a straight shot from where they started. The sun soon completely set, and then they only had the moon overhead and its low gray light to see. Crickets chirped, and the dark sky was painted with thousands of stars Arthur didn’t really have time to appreciate. John seemed to look enamored by them, though, and as a result, ended up stumbling over many rocks. “Careful, watch where you’re goin’.”

“I’m lookin’ for something,” John mumbled in reply, though he didn’t clarify any further. Arthur didn’t read into it very deeply. 

“We ain’t got time for stargazing.” He said instead of asking what John was looking for, exactly. He couldn’t imagine the constellations being very helpful right now. 

It took a lot longer than it should have for them to reach the house, both already tired despite not having been awake very long. There were no lights inside the small homestead, and the air around it screamed abandoned. That seemed to be the furthest thing from John’s mind, as when they were outside it, John turned his head and started to walk away. “Where are you going?” Arthur asked. 

“There’s a water pump.” John pointed out, gesturing towards it. Sure enough, sticking out of the ground a few yards away was a small pipe with a handle. Seeing a stable, a barn, and what looked to have been fields for crops, Arthur figured this place had been a ranch. 

“It’s probably blocked, or dried up, by now. Looks like there ain’t been no one here in a decade or more.”

John just shrugged, not heeding Arthur’s words as he kept going towards the water pump. Arthur followed, figuring they didn’t have much choice. He’d kept an eye out the entire time they’d been walking, and had never spotted a single water source, nor went out of his way to find one. He was more worried about getting them somewhere under a roof before it was too deep into the night. Most things that’d want to make them a snack were nocturnal.

John struggled a little bit with it, the pump being stuck from not being used for who knew how long, but soon, he got it working, and… Nothing came out. He frowned and kept at it for a few more moments before he stopped and sighed. “Woulda been too easy.”

“Lemme try,” Arthur said, and John stepped aside. Arthur gave it a shot, and for a long minute or two, the pipe still remained dry. 

“Maybe it just needs another minute,” John said optimistically, though he didn’t sound very hopeful.

“Maybe.” Arthur agreed simply, not telling he didn’t have much faith in that, either. 

John leaned against the side of the house as Arthur continued fiddling with the water pump. As he was about to fully consider calling it a lost cause, brown water started to flow from the pipe. Arthur and John looked at each other in surprise as Arthur kept pumping, waiting to see if the water would eventually run clear. If not, he supposed they would have to find some way to filter it. Both their canteens were empty now.

The water did soon turn clear, and the moment it did, the pair fished their canteens out and held them under the running water until they started overflowing. They drank greedily and had to refill them again. “That hits the spot.” John declared as water dribbled down his chin. “Remind me to start carryin’ a bigger waterskin. I ain’t never tryin’ to be that thirsty ever again.”

Arthur chuckled at that. “Yeah, alright.” He snickered. “Now, come on, let’s get inside.”

“Wait,” John said. He stepped away from the house again and more into the open as he looked up at the sky with squinted eyes.

“You tryin’ to get eaten by a bear or somethin’, boy?”

“Hosea taught me how to use the stars as a map.” John finally explained. “If I can find the North star, I’ll know what direction home is in.”

“... _ Really? _ You _ know _ how to wayfind?” Arthur asked incredulously. Wayfinding had been amongst another one of Arthur’s earlier lessons from Hosea, but he’d never really got the hang of it. 

“Mmhm. Hosea said I picked it up real fast. ‘S always the first thing I look for when we go somewhere new at night.”

“Hm.” Arthur hummed, both impressed, and bummed out. John was still a year younger than Arthur had been when he joined Hosea and Dutch, yet still got everything they taught him so much faster. John never touched a gun before they started teaching him to shoot, but hit his mark on the first try. Arthur never quite understood using the stars to navigate, and here John was, insisting he’d be able to find their way home doing just that. “When did you get so smart?”

John shrugged, still looking up at the night sky. “I dunno.” He said shortly, then kept looking. He eventually pointed up, and Arthur’s gaze followed. “Right there. That’s the North star. Which means home is…” John paused for a moment as he kept searching, then he pointed to what Arthur thought may have been northwest. “That way.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” Arthur asked, crossing his arms. The last thing they needed was to get more lost; was there really such a thing as _ more lost, _ though? They were already probably headed the wrong direction, what’s the difference if they went somewhere else that still wasn’t the right way? Could be getting further, but they’d still be just as clueless. 

“I’m positive,” John said surely. 

“Alright…” Arthur replied hesitantly. “I ain’t so sure about traveling at night, though.”

John shrugged. “It’s the only way. I can’t exactly use the stars as a map during the day.”

Arthur sighed. “I guess you’re right.” He conceded. “We’re gonna have to sleep during the day, and walk at night, then, I suppose. Least until we get close enough to home, so I know where we are. We’re gonna have to be alert at all times.”

“Okay.”

Arthur gestured in the direction John said home was in, hoping to Hell and back the boy knew what he was doing. “Onward, then, Mr. Navigator.”

And so, the brothers started walking, (hopefully) in the way that would get them back to their family. 

** _~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ **

An hour before sun-up, Arthur and John had to stop to eat, stomachs grumbling something fierce. Their dinner that night was half an apple each, and another piece of salted venison. It was the last of any kind of meat Arthur had on him, so they’d somehow have to find food tomorrow night. They’d been walking (hopefully) towards home since about nine-thirty, ten o'clock at night, and it was nearly four in the morning. They’d gone about eight miles, probably less than that, still nowhere near any land Arthur knew. Both boys’ metaphorical dogs were barking, and Arthur was almost sure they’d both need a new pair of boots when they got home.

_ If we get home, _ that morbid voice whispered at the back of his head.

“We get home, I’m never walkin’ anywhere again,” John whined as he wrestled his boots off and rubbed at his sore feet. 

“You and me both,” Arthur said, though knew it wasn’t a very obtainable goal. “I’m gonna get my feet replaced with wheels.”

“Wouldn’t be very useful over rough ground.” John pointed out, too tired and beat up to appreciate Arthur’s joke. “How’s your arm?”

Arthur pulled his shirt back so he could look. “It’s alright. Ain’t bleeding, or infected, and the stitches haven’t come loose.” He answered. “How’s your face?”

“Tenderized,” John replied miserably. “Feel like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound sack.”

“Well, better get used to it. That’s how we’re both gonna feel for who knows how many more nights?”

John nodded a little, ducking his head. He finished the last bite of his meager meal before he drew his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m freezing.”

The closest thing they had to fire was Arthur’s oil lantern. It, obviously, wasn’t enough to keep the chill of night at bay, mainly because the flame was low as possible to save fuel. It was probably only a little over fifty degrees, so not freezing, but definitely cold enough to complain. “Here,” Arthur said, draping his jacket around John’s shoulders. It was dry now, for the most part. 

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry, ‘bout me,” Arthur replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “I’m fine. You need it a lot more than I do.”

John shrugged his arms through the too-big sleeves and tried to drown himself in the jacket. “Alright…”

“Put your boots back on, too,” Arthur instructed, and John made a face. “I know, your feet hurt. But most your body heat escapes through your head and feet. So just trust me that you’re better off with ‘em on.”

John sighed but did as he was told.

“We’re gonna have to get moving again soon, too.” Arthur went on in the absence of a reply. “We can’t stay out in the open. Need to find shelter.” He yawned. “Think I saw another house a mile or two off before we stopped walking.”

John remained silent. 

“We gotta rest up, so we have energy for the walk, and find food, tomorrow night.”

Still, not a peep from John. Arthur was starting to wonder if he’d fallen asleep, but John’s eyes were still wide open on further inspection. When Arthur’s confusion cleared, worry took its place. John had been real quiet just after he’d fallen in the river, too, but this felt… Different. Worse, somehow. 

“... Are you alright, John?”

“Fine,” John answered curtly and said nothing else. 

“It was, um… A real smart idea, hidin’ in the trees last night.” Arthur tried to keep John talking. There wasn’t much else in the world that felt as wrong as John not talking. 

“Thanks.”

“... Do you wanna ta-”

“No.” John snapped, turning his head away. 

“Okay… Sorry.” Arthur mumbled back. 

When they finally got back to their feet again, the sky was starting to grow bright again. The stars faded away as the dim blue-gray light of morning came to take their place. Arthur and John dragged their aching feet towards a building in the distance, hoping to seek shelter. Otherwise, they’d have to keep walking, and both boys were already so exhausted they could sleep for a year, given half the chance. 

They somehow made it there, though certainly not in record time. The grasses around the property were unkempt, and the wood was rotting horribly. It was clear no one was living there. “Alright.” Arthur heaved out once he’d deemed the house fit to be their shelter for a few hours. “Let’s get in there.”

The door was nailed shut, and Arthur had to kick it in, making his feet yell at him to get off of them.

Once inside, as safe as could be, all things considered, the brothers immediately plopped down on the floor, laying back. Neither of them even said goodnight before promptly passing out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spend several hours on writing new chapters, so comments are greatly appreciated. Please let me know I'm not just screaming into the void. My only payment is knowing my work is bringing joy to someone's day.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy <3


	36. The Final Stretch

John awoke sometime mid-afternoon, rolling over where he laid on the floor, as the sun had been blinding him. Arthur was sound asleep, snoring softly with his arm tucked under his head like a pillow. Even in rest, Arthur looked exhausted. Like he could sleep for the rest of his life and still be wiped out.  _ My fault, _ John thought on a loop, had been ever since they came to in that house, tied up and defenseless. 

Arthur tried playing it down like the men were bound to attack, and maybe they very well would’ve, but either way, John still knew he was to blame. He hadn’t been keeping a good enough eye on their surroundings. Neither had Arthur, but he had other things on his mind at the moment. Namely, his recently broken heart. If John had been paying more attention, he would have seen those fellers long before they got anywhere close to him and Arthur. In not continually scanning their immediate area, he got not only himself in trouble but also Arthur. 

He wouldn’t let that happen again. Any time they were out of camp, John would keep a sharp eye on everything around them. He wouldn’t ever let them get snuck up on again. Even now, John stood, paced the house with light steps, looking out every window. Scanning treelines, taking double glances if he saw any kind of movement. Vigilant, like he should’ve been, to begin with. 

Every moment since they hid in the cave, safe as they  _ could _ be, John couldn’t think of anything other than what happened. He wasn’t even half as terrified a year ago, with a rope necklace and a dozen angry homesteaders wanting him dead, as he was the other night. Last May, before Dutch and them had saved him, John had nothing to lose. He hadn’t a cent to his name, a place to call home, or anyone waiting up for him. As he stood on a small stool, waiting to be strung up from a sycamore tree's sturdy branches, John was almost glad. No more sleeping in old barn lofts or looking over his shoulder. No more pain, hunger, or suffering. He had fought, but only because he wanted to go out fighting. John had been fully prepared to die that night. Scared as he was, he had made peace with it.

But now, he had a  _ lot _ to lose. Like the man curled up on the floor a few feet away. Everyone back home. Dutch, Hosea, Susan, Bessie, Annabelle, Copper, and Uncle were all at camp or searching for them, wondering where he and Arthur were. And John was sure he knew which direction home was in, but he had no idea how far away it was. They already walked for so many hours last night, and his feet still ached something horribly. They could still be several more days’ worth of walking away, for all he knew.

And John knew for sure he was slowing Arthur down. He watched Arthur take inventory of their food supply last night, as they sat down for a small dinner. The face Arthur made at the lack of content in his satchel told John a lot. They were running low. The provisions Arthur had in his bag when they left would have been enough to sustain him for a few days, but with John around, that was an extra mouth to feed. His legs were also much shorter, making him slower, and he couldn’t walk as long as Arthur. John was the one who asked for every single break last night. 

And what if John didn’t actually know what he was talking about when it came to wayfinding? What if the star he’d said was the North Star, wasn’t? What if they were headed in the entirely opposite direction of home?

All things considered, John was still just as frightened as he was waking up tied to a chair. He and Arthur were nowhere close to safety, or the comforts and stabilities of their usual life. He had no idea where their next meal would come from, where they would lie their heads tomorrow morning, how long they’d be out there with nothing. It was only the two of them against the world. And John felt even worse knowing Arthur was agonizing just as much, if not more, over the whole thing. 

John jumped a little when he heard a noise behind him, hand flying to his gun, which stayed at his side since he and Arthur made their escape that horrible night. He breathed a sigh of relief when he turned around to see Arthur waking up, letting out a few yawns as he pushed himself up off the floor. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Arthur greeted back, his voice a little rough from sleep. Probably lack of water, too. They slowed down on sipping from their waterskins when they noticed them half empty, stopping for food last night.

John let his hand subtly fall away from his weapon as Arthur rubbed at his eyes and stood. “How’s your arm?”

“‘S alright. Don’t hurt too much anymore.” Arthur replied. “How’s your face?”

“Fine,” John answered simply. It still hurt a little bit, but would heal soon, he was sure. 

“How long you been up?”

John looked back out the window.  _ Don’t get distracted. _ “I dunno, fifteen minutes?”

“Hm.” Arthur hummed. “We have to find food.” He added, cutting to the chase. “Got any ideas?”

“No,” John replied, quite sadly. Their food situation had been at the back of his mind for some time now, and he still didn’t have any solutions.

“Sometimes, in old houses like this, there’s still an odd can of beans or somethin’ around,” Arthur said as he paced the house. “Kinda doubt it, though. Place looks picked clean.”

John tore his eyes away from the window for only a few moments to look around the small homestead. There was only one floor to the house, most of the furniture looked decrepit, and the few cabinets hanging open in the kitchen area were bare. “Yeah.”

Arthur heaved a sigh, picking up his satchel, which he’d dumped on the floor when they went to sleep last night. He slung it over his shoulder, searching for supplies as John’s eyes remained glued to everything outside. John listened to the shuffling of end table drawers, the creak of cabinet doors, and then Arthur sighed again louder this time. “Yup picked clean. Figured as much.” He muttered. “Guess we oughta get movin’.”

John and Arthur then left the house and started walking. It was another hot, humid day, and John couldn’t wait until they were back home, where he could sit under the shade of the trees. Judging by the sun's position, John figured it was probably around four or five in the afternoon. Only a few hours of daylight left for them to figure out their food dilemma. He and Arthur were both sweating buckets only a few minutes into their walk. It threatened to drip into their eyes, and their clothes stuck to them. John felt absolutely disgusting, and if the uncomfortable look on Arthur’s face was anything to go by, he did, as well. 

The land they walked was also very hilly. Every time the boys thought they were at the top, there’d be another incline to prove them wrong. John’s lungs burned, his legs ached, and his feet cried from all the walking they did last night. His mouth and throat felt dry as the desert. John killed off the last of the water in his canteen in a few gulps. 

They hadn’t been walking for a mile when John heard the rushing of water nearby. He and Arthur stopped in their tracks as they listened closer. When it’d sunk in that they both heard it, the brothers sprinted towards the sound. They soon reached a river, both John and Arthur dropping to their knees in front of it. They cupped their hands and swallowed as many mouthfuls as they could before filling their canteens up. John took Arthur’s hat off his head and dumped some of the water over himself, Arthur following suit. They sighed in relief, the cold water feeling nice, compared to the harsh heat of the August sun beating down on them. 

John went to fill his waterskin again when he noticed a fish swimming by. The gears in his head began to turn, and he looked around. He found a long stick on the ground nearby, then sat in front of the river, pulling out his knife and sharpening it to a point.

“What you doin’?” Arthur asked as he also sat down, clearly already very tired, even though they hadn’t gone very far. 

“Makin’ a spear, to get fish,” John answered. “I did this a lot when I was on my own.”

“Thought you couldn’t get near the water, or make a fire?”

John shrugged as he kept whittling away at the stick. “Usually stuck to shallow water. And I’d use other peoples’ fires while they was sleepin’.”

“Huh,” Arthur muttered. “I dunno if we’re gonna be able to start a fire. Wood’s probably all too wet to burn still, from the rain the other night.”

“We gotta try.” 

John kept working the stick until it had a very pointy end, almost enough to prick his finger when he lightly touched it to test the sharpness. He knelt in front of the river with his make-shift spear poised to strike as he kept a sharp eye. The first few times John had tried this, he kept missing. It took him a couple of attempts to understand water distorted things and that the fish were usually an inch or more away from where they appeared to be. When he realized that, spearing them became second nature, easy as breathing. He’d quickly gotten sick of the taste, but it was better than praying he could find a can of something in an abandoned house. 

Sneaking into other folks’ camps while they were asleep was always risky, and sometimes they woke up. Most understood when John would anxiously stammer out his reasoning for being there. A few even invited him to stay at their camp for the night. There were plenty who weren’t as gracious, though. The couple times he’d been offered, John accepted enthusiastically, despite his trust issues. He knew it was likely he’d spend the next night and several after curled up in some old hay or a ditch. The possibility of being harmed by those strangers was always at the forefront of his mind. Still, he ignored it best he could in favor of being warm for a night.

The winter was horrible. The sources he relied on for fish and water were usually frozen over. He spent many nights starving, thirsty and shivering from the frigid temperatures, unable to sleep a wink. John didn’t run into anyone during the cold months, so there were no fires to warm himself by. It was a wonder he’d made it until spring when Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur saved him.

John had grown quite impatient the past year, used to having everything he needed the second he needed it. He scowled deeply when he spent several long minutes staring at the water, waiting. Even still, the instincts were all coming back to him.  _ Remain still and quiet, to not spook the fish. Wait for the right moment. Don’t hesitate. _ As soon as a fish did swim into his field of view, John waited until it paused. Remembering what he had taught himself, John aimed an inch or two away from where the fish appeared to be before he swiftly brought his spear down on it. He felt the spear stab through the fish and raised it out of the water. Arthur looked pretty impressed. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Arthur chuckled. “Hand it here, I’ll fix it up for cooking.”

John gave the fish to Arthur, who got to work on deboning and descaling it. Then, his eyes were back on the water, and he waited for another fish to swim by. As soon as one did, John speared it, as well. They weren’t the biggest fish in the world, but it would keep him and Arthur going for at least a little while.

When both of the fish were ready to be cooked, Arthur put them in a small burlap sack he kept in his satchel, and they filled their canteens again before walking once more. As they trekked, John picked up any dry bits of wood he could find, and they stopped an hour later to make a fire. It wasn’t a very impressive inferno by any stretch of the imagination, but they soon had a fire, and it would be good enough for their purposes. The boys stuck the fish on their hunting knives and held them over the small blaze. The smell of fish meat and the sound of popping grease fat made John’s stomach grumble loudly. 

Along with their fish, they had another half an apple each. Both tore into their food almost ravenously, used to having three meals a day, and now only living on one for the past two and a half days. Even when he was done and had licked his fingers clean, John was still hungry. He could tell Arthur was, too. Wasn’t nothing could be done for it, though. They were lucky to have that small bit of food. 

The fire died down not long after they finished eating, running out of wood to burn. He and Arthur decided to stay there and rest up until the stars came out. They were headed the right direction, but their feet still hurt awfully from the walk last night. Arthur leaned back against a rock and dozed lightly, while John stayed alert, barely blinking as he kept his head on a constant swivel. The smallest of noises would make him jump and reach for his gun, only to realize it was a rabbit rustling the brush, or a deer snapping a twig. Nothing that could harm them presented itself, but John still paid close attention to make sure that would remain the case; or, at least, that they’d have some warning.

When the sky began to grow dark, and twinkling stars grew ever more visible, he lightly jostled Arthur’s uninjured arm to wake him. Arthur was just as jumpy and trigger happy, but relaxed when he realized it was only John. “We gotta get moving,” John said simply.

Arthur nodded in agreement, standing to his feet with a tired huff. “Which way, then?”

John didn’t reply with words. He just turned in the right direction after refinding what he desperately hoped was the North star. He started walking and heard Arthur fall into step behind him. He still didn’t feel much like running his trap, so they trudged in silence. Arthur didn’t try to coax him into a conversation, nor did John ask anything of Arthur. He caught glimpses every now and then of Arthur keeping just as vigil an eye as John had been all day already. He was sure Arthur saw him doing the same. 

In the silence, John’s thoughts gnawed at his brain. But how the fuck was he ever supposed to put anything in his head into words? Neither he or Arthur had the affinity for language their mentors possessed. Dutch and Hosea could convince anyone of anything, he was pretty sure. Even when John could spot bullshit in their tales, the way the pair told their epics always threatened to quell any doubts. John could suddenly understand how it was that Arthur got caught up in his own head so often. Moreso, why he was so reluctant to share so many of those musings, why most of them stayed between Arthur and his journal's pages. 

John couldn’t stop seeing that feller’s brains getting smashed in every time he blinked. Nor could he forget the quick glimpses of bullets burying into the other mens’ skulls, or the last few guys burning to death. 

Arthur had moved on so quickly. He looked bothered, but John felt so  _ deeply _ disturbed by it all. The worst act he'd ever witnessed was by his own hands, slitting that feller’s throat at the homestead a year ago in self-defense. This was all self-defense, too, and he knew Arthur wouldn’t ever do anything like that to him, but John was still a little uneasy knowing just how  _ lethal _ Arthur could be. 

He couldn’t understand why it surprised him so much. John had known from the moment he met them that Arthur, Hosea, and Dutch were outlaws. Killing was a regular part of their lives. He hadn’t cared, and he still didn’t really. He supposed it was the result of those actions, rather than the morality of it. Arthur had every right to cave that man’s head in with the pipe he was tied to. The mental image of the blood and brains all over Arthur’s face, arms, and clothes still burned in John’s head and made him feel sick, though. The gore thankfully washed away in the rain that night, and Arthur didn’t look as…

_ Terrifying, _ was the only word that came to mind, and John hated himself for it. He  _ wasn’t _ scared of Arthur. Or, well… No, he  _ wasn’t. _ Not really. Was he?

God, why did everything have to be so fucking complicated?

John’s feet were still aching so severely, and adding extra steps wasn’t helping any, but they kept marching on, anyhow. They didn’t have any choice, and John hated that even more. Every moment they spent out here, nowhere close to home, they were in constant danger. Even when they found somewhere to lay their heads for rest, they still weren’t safe. John felt so small and helpless, and the dark of night only made the fear worse. 

About two miles into their walk, John began stumbling over rocks, feeling like he was standing on broken glass. The inside of his boots felt slick and warm, and John thought maybe it was sweat. He was exhausted and sore. Hungry, thirsty, scared, confused. John kept wishing to wake up and for this to have all been some horrible fever dream, but the constant pain kept reminding him that this was very real.

“Arthur.” He all but whined out, legs buckling as he fell to his knees roughly. “Gotta stop…”

Arthur stopped in his tracks, plopping down on the ground next to John with a tired sigh. “We can’t stop for too long.” He said, sounding much more than sorry for it. “Gotta keep movin’.”

John nodded. “I know.”

The pair sat there quietly for quite some time. John took a few tiny sips from his canteen, already more than half empty again. The little bit he had to drink barely quenched his thirst at all, but there wasn’t really anything to be done for it. Much like most of their problems right now. 

As they sat there, Arthur pulled out his map again, looking around with squinted eyes. Probably for landmarks. John’s gaze kept darting to the monstrous hill ahead of them, not at all looking forward to climbing it when he and Arthur got back to their feet. “I still don’t see a damn thing I recognize anywhere close,” Arthur muttered as he folded his map up and stuffed it back in his satchel. “We can’t be too far. Horse can only go ‘bout twenty miles in a day. We’ve gone… fifteen? I think?”

“I ain’t sure I got a couple more miles in me,” John mumbled miserably.

“We have to get back tonight, yet,” Arthur replied grimly. “We ain’t gonna make it another night out here.” 

John’s feet were still throbbing in his boots, so he pulled them off. He just needed a few minutes of  _ some _ kinda relief. In doing so, though, he discovered why exactly it was his feet hurt so badly. Angry red blisters covered the rubbed-raw skin, a few of the smaller ones broken open and bleeding a little. He looked up at Arthur with a pitiful look on his face he couldn’t help for. Arthur, meanwhile, grimaced at the sight. 

Arthur’s grimace turned into a stony determination, brows furrowing, and a fiery look in his eye as he said, “I’ll carry you.”

“No.” John denied, dipping his head. “You already gotta carry yourself. I’m slowin’ you down enough as is.”

“You ain’t slowing me down,” Arthur argued. “This is tough on me, too, but we ain’t gone this far just to die out here.”

“I can still walk.” John insisted, putting his boots back on, disturbing the wounds further, and making his face pinch. “You don’t gotta carry me. I got us into this mess in the first place. Only fair if I suffer right along with you.”

Arthur looked conflicted for a few moments before he pulled a bottle out of his satchel and handed it to John. “Least take a few sips of that to help with the pain.” He replied, then added, “Don’t tell Susan.”

_ Bourbon, _ John read the label in his head, and looked at Arthur for a moment, a bit surprised. He’d only been allowed to drink the one time with Arthur and Hosea, and he hadn’t liked it. He liked the ache in his feet, less, though. So, John screwed the lid off, face scrunching and throat burning as he took a few swigs from the bottle. He pulled it away after a few gulps, coughed a little at how rough it went down, face still contorted from the taste and burn as he put the lid back on. He passed it to Arthur, then spat in the grass next to him to get some of the taste out his mouth. “Ugh.” John griped, shuddering in disgust. “Fuckin’ nasty.”

Arthur didn’t even bother to tell John to watch his mouth. He pulled a tin of crackers out and passed them to John. “Eat a few of those, to soak up some of the alcohol.” He said, then took a couple gulps of bourbon, as well. 

John and Arthur ate a few crackers, feeling sorry for themselves, and the like. John didn’t drink nearly enough to even get tipsy, but the pain in his feet subsided a little, and only yelled at him as much when he and Arthur finally stood again. Getting up the hill was a fight, with John having barely any traction in his bloody, sweaty boots, and the slight haze of the liquor growing just a bit stronger as they climbed. He would trip over rocks and nearly go tumbling right back down to the hill's bottom, but Arthur would always grip up on him and help John get his footing back. 

They were struggling to breathe when they finally reached the top. Hearts pumping, lungs heaving, throats dry, and drenched in sweat, both brothers collapsed back to the ground again for another break. For a few long minutes, John and Arthur fought to get their breathing and heart rates back to an average pace. John’s vision swam a little, and his legs felt like lead. 

Arthur recovered from the ascent faster than John did, and as soon as he was able to, he stood to his feet and surveyed their surroundings. John looked up at him as he kept panting for air. Eyes squinted, both boys looked out into the valley below them.

To the right, John could see lights and tall buildings in the far distance. It caught Arthur’s eyes, too, and after a few moments of staring at it, Arthur fumbled to pull his map out. He looked at it, the surrounding land, and the city. “That’s Chicago…!” He breathed out. Looking around at the dark terrain before them, he declared, “I know where we are!”

“You do?” John asked, would sound giddier if he weren’t in such a state.

“Yeah, in fact…” Arthur looked around a bit more before his eyes locked onto something. An orange light in the not too far distance, which he pointed out to John. “I’m almost certain that’s the campfire back home.”

John felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he looked at the warm glow only a few miles away. “What are we waiting for, then?” He asked, groaning in effort as he stood back to his wobbly legs. Arthur put his map back in his satchel, and they immediately picked up the pace, walking as quickly as they could toward the orange light. 


	37. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, because pacing is a struggle, and so is writer's block. If I didn't rush through this one, I wasn't gonna be able to move the story forward until I find my way out of the rut I'm in. 
> 
> That being said, I think the rut was caused from the pacing issues, so I should be able to get back into the swing of things writing the next chapter. It's going to also probably be a bit shorter, but I'd like to experiment with a different perspective with a character who doesn't get much screen time... Hopefully I do them justice. 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoy the chapter, they help boost my morale immensely.

Knowing exactly where they were, and roughly how far they were from home, Arthur felt a thousand times better. Well, not entirely. His feet and legs ached terribly, he was exhausted, thirsty, hungry, and jonesing for a smoke, but he still had a Hell of a lot more hope that he and John would make it, now. 

John was struggling in every sense of the word, looking not quite all there as they dragged forward. Arthur felt a tug at his heartstrings whenever he’d glance back at John, who looked more agonized and wiped out with every few steps they took. _ We don’t have a choice, _ Arthur reminded himself repeatedly, knowing there wasn’t much more for John he could do than he’d already offered. 

They had to take another break barely a mile out from where they’d stopped at the hill’s top. “We could rest here for the night,” Arthur said quietly after a few minutes. He knew it wasn’t safe for them out in the open like that, with no shelter or fire, but he also knew they were close, and that John wasn’t looking real good. He _ needed _ some sort of respite. Arthur’d be lying if he said he didn’t.

“Can’t,” John replied softly with a shake of his head. “Gotta get home.” He tried to stand again, but his legs buckled under him, and he fell to his knees with a whine.

John wouldn’t be content with staying there, not with how near they were to home, to their family. Arthur looked around at the now-familiar land around him. They were so _ close. _ Only two or three miles away. He wouldn’t be pleased with not trudging toward home, either. “I’ll carry you.” He offered John again.

“No.” John insisted once more through gritted teeth. “I can do it.”

“You already got us this far,” Arthur argued. “We’re only a few miles away now. Let me handle the rest.”

“I’ll keep up.” John denied further.

“John.” Arthur huffed the boy’s name, tiredly. John looked at him, a real sorry sight to behold. Arthur stood to his feet, feeling his legs quake from the stress he’d put on them the past three days. He held a hand out to John, and John took it. Arthur helped him up, the boy’s legs shaking even more than his. “I got ya, brother.”

John still wasn’t relatively big, but even picking up his ninety pounds at most was a trial itself. Until they got up over that hill, when Arthur could just barely make camp out a couple of miles away, he’d been trying his damndest to ignore the horrible state they were in. Now, so close, yet still so far, it was all starting to add up. _ We don’t have a choice, _ he thought again, hoisting John up over his shoulder. Arthur hated so much that they didn’t have any option but to keep moving forward. They were too near to stop now. John made no additional fuss over being carried, likely too exhausted to put up any more of a fight.

Every step Arthur took, carrying himself and John, was a battle. The night was beginning to grow colder as dawn crept closer, but Arthur was still sweating buckets regardless. His leather hat, back atop his head, didn’t help. Slight inclines would make him gasp for air as he kept marching forward. His legs threatened to give out several times, but Arthur’d find a tree or rock to brace and regain his balance. He’d catch his breath for a moment before he’d go right back to walking. As the sun started to rise, and he was walking them down a familiar trail, he saw pieces of a broken wagon up ahead. _ Has to be ours, _ he mused, vaguely recalling the attack. _ Can’t be far now. Keep moving forward. _

Moving forward was always easier said than done, it seemed. John was practically dead weight on Arthur’s shoulder, and the only way he could tell the boy _ wasn’t _ a corpse was his steady breathing as he slept. It took every drop of energy and willpower Arthur could muster to keep him and John upright. It took even more that he didn’t have to keep them moving. 

Another mile out, at the end of the trail, a hundred yards or so away, there was a warm, orange glow in a clearing. Arthur couldn’t hear much other than the birds singing their very early morning songs, a few crickets still chirping, and the nearby river. As he slogged forward, tents came into view. The campfire became a distinguishable shape, and so did the familiar hunched figures in front of it. “Hosea…!” He called out first, his voice not incredibly loud. “Dutch…!”

The figures all turned their heads toward the trail quickly. “Arthur!” Arthur could hear Hosea yelling. Five blurs started running towards them, and Arthur picked up his pace, even though he was running on fumes. 

“Hosea, Dutch…!” Arthur called back again, softer this time, as he pushed himself. Vision swimming, he tripped over a small rock on the path, only barely had enough time to shield John from the fall they took. They laid sprawled in the dirt as Arthur fought to catch his breath. 

First Dutch, then Hosea, Bessie, Susan, and Annabelle were all kneeling at his and John’s sides. “Dear Lord, are you boys alright?” Hosea asked, sounding manically frantic, already looking Arthur over for wounds while Dutch checked John. “Wh-Where on Earth have you been? We’ve been looking for you two for nearly three days…!”

“Shoppin’ trip didn’t go so well.” Arthur tiredly quipped.

“Let’s get these two to bed,” Dutch commanded, picking John up. John was still passed out and likely would remain so for a while.

Hosea and Bessie helped Arthur up, then practically carried him back into camp. Whenever Arthur tried putting weight on his feet, it felt like a thousand little needles were stabbing them. “We got you, darling, you’re home now,” Bessie said gently as she and Hosea brought him back to camp.

The Matthews couple lowered Arthur onto his cot, and Copper came out of nowhere with excited barks. He hopped up next to Arthur and immediately began attacking him with doggy kisses. Arthur could spare only a few pats and a small chuckle. “Hey, boy.” He leaned against the backboard to his tent, and Copper curled up next to him.

Meanwhile, Hosea was still as fretful as a mother bird. “What happened to you boys, a-are you hurt?”

“John’s got blisters on his feet.” Arthur drawled. “Pretty sure mine’re torn up, too.”

“That the worst of it?” Hosea inquired further.

“Well, the boy also got his face tenderized by some feller more’n twice his size, ‘nd I got grazed with a bullet.”

Hosea sounded like he was gonna have a heart attack as he asked, “You boys were _ shot _ at?”

“Some local buncha ruffians didn’t like John’s big mouth, or a couple’a outlaw kids on their turf.” Arthur groaned, sitting back up and forcing his eyes to stay open. There was nothing but profound concern on Hosea’s face. Bessie, right next to him, looked just as worried. “There was at least a dozen of ‘em. They attacked us on our way to go get supplies.”

“We heard the shots,” Bessie spoke up quietly. 

“Dutch, Susan, and I immediately mounted up, rode as fast as we could,” Hosea added, voice shaking a little. “We found the wagon, but not you boys. We tried to follow the trail, but it started rainin’, and the tracks faded.”

“They knocked us out and took us a little over twenty miles that way.” Arthur gestured. “Woke up, and we was tied up in some house. We barely made it out alive.”

“Where did you get shot?” Hosea asked suddenly, interrupting Arthur’s retelling of the Hell he and John had been through. Understandable, possibly fatal injuries were a little more important than stories. 

“My arm,” Arthur answered, pulling back his shirt enough to where the wound was visible. The sutures had held tight the entire twenty-mile walk home. 

“That’s a good patch job,” Hosea muttered, seeing the injury wasn’t as severe as he was clearly making it in his head to be. 

“John did that,” Arthur said, unable to keep the small bit of pride out of his tone. “He’s more than half the reason we made it back in one piece.”

“... Really?” Hosea asked with a curious look.

“We were in the middle of nowhere, with no clue where we were, and the boy got us most of the way home usin’ the stars as a map.” Both Bessie and Hosea’s brows ticked up in pleasant surprise. “He taught himself to sew a wound up and get fish without a rod before we took him in. Every time I thought I was gonna have to pull most the weight, John came in and proved me wrong.”

Hosea crossed his arms and smiled fondly. “What a smart boy.”

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed easily. “Me and him, we make a pretty good team.”

Hosea only beamed for another moment before his expression grew gray again. Arthur’s mood shifted back to grim as Hosea put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m glad you’re both alright.” His voice quaked a little. “We were startin’ to think…”

“I know,” Arthur replied quietly, so Hosea wouldn’t have to finish his sentence. 

Hosea sat on the cot next to him and pulled Arthur into a tight hug, which Arthur was more than glad to return. He rested his chin on Hosea’s shoulder, and Hosea carded a hand through his hair. Bessie leaned down and kissed Arthur on the forehead before walking over to check on John. Arthur could have fallen asleep right there, and he nearly did. A very distant part of him that he ignored felt a little silly; twenty-three years old, and just about napping on Hosea’s shoulder, like some overgrown kid. He couldn’t pay that any mind, though, feeling much too relaxed as he lightly dozed in Hosea’s arms. It was the safest he’d felt in days. It seemed like Hosea needed the hug just as badly, too. 

Any need for rest was forgotten when Annabelle walked over with a plate stacked full of food and a waterskin. “Are you hungry, Arthur?” She asked. Arthur opened his eyes to see the offering, nodded, quietly thanking her as she handed it to him. “You’re welcome,” Annabelle said with a smile before she walked off again, probably to check up on John. 

John’s tent was barely three yards away from Arthur’s, and he looked over. Miss Grimshaw was gently washing the dirt and blood off of John’s feet, while Dutch had a mortar and pestle, probably working up a salve for those nasty blisters. Arthur ate slowly, feeling bad that John wasn’t up to have some food and water, too. He knew, though, that as soon as John woke, his needs would be seen to. It made some of the guilt die down, though not entirely. He watched as Bessie grabbed an extra pillow, fluffing it before putting it under John’s head. She tucked him in tight, brushing strands of greasy, sweat-slicked hair out of John’s face. The bruises there were still pretty severe.

Hosea stayed with him, an arm draped around Arthur’s shoulder. The older man glanced between John and Arthur, a grim look still on his face. It softened a little with each minute, but not by much. Arthur knew Hosea was one to get caught up in his head, much like he was. He was certain Hosea was still mulling a billion horrible scenarios about how terrible things could have gone for him and John. Likely, the only thing keeping the intrusive thoughts at bay was the fact that they had made it home in one piece.

Arthur and John had only been gone a few days, but it felt like a goddamn lifetime. In those few days, his stubble had grown into what was nearly a full beard. He felt like he’d probably lost a few pounds, and John had felt lighter than when Arthur had to pull him out of the river only a few weeks prior. Hosea was pretty unkempt, too, and the bags under his eyes were darker, suggesting he’d had very little sleep the past three nights. Arthur hadn’t gotten a very good look at Dutch, as the man had rushed to help John; but from here, Arthur could see Dutch’s usually clean-shaven face had some whiskers, too, and his hair wasn’t slicked back as it usually was. He probably hadn’t gotten much sleep, either. 

Bessie, Annabelle, and Susan didn’t look worse for wear, but they’d probably spent a lot of their time guarding the camp while Dutch and Hosea were searching. Not a difficult task, but certainly an imperative one. Susan’s bun was a little messier than usual, and there was a bit of mud at the bottom of Bessie’s dress, but other than that, they looked fine. Arthur had no qualms with that. He never wanted to worry any of them in the first place. Uncle was nowhere to be seen, but what else was new? Probably spent the last three days entirely unaware of the whole ordeal, likely in that whorehouse in Chicago he was so fond of.

Arthur let out a long yawn, slumping against Hosea some more after leaving his empty plate on the ground next to his cot. Hosea gently squeezed his shoulder, and Arthur closed his eyes again as a breeze blew by and toyed with his hair. “You must be exhausted, dear boy.” Hosea murmured, sounding more and more thankful with each word that Arthur was alive and _ able _ to be wiped out. 

Arthur nodded the slightest bit. “Mhm.” He hummed simply. “Tough few days…” He sighed. 

“Tell me about it after you’ve gotten some rest, son,” Hosea replied. Arthur felt the man shift a little before adding, “But first, looks like Susan’s gonna come look after your ailments.”

Arthur opened an eye to spot Miss Grimshaw walking over, a bucket in hand filled with clean water, a rag hanging over it. He made a face at the thought of her washing his feet and had half a mind to do it himself, though he was sure she would throw an almighty hissy fit about it. Dutch was smearing a salve on John’s torn up feet, and Arthur’s face twisted, even more, knowing he’d probably have to deal with that, too. 

He was too tired to raise a stink as Miss Grimshaw cleaned the dirt and blood off his feet. She made it relatively apparent she didn’t much like it, either, but in a tone that told Arthur she didn’t mind too terribly- just wasn’t a fan. Equally, Dutch had a look of discomfort as he put a salve on Arthur’s feet, and they all silently agreed not to think too hard about it or bring it up again. 

As soon as he was patched up as well as could be, Arthur flopped back on his cot with a tired groan, burning eyes slipping closed again. Bessie and Hosea tucked him in, and both kissed him on the forehead, encouraging him to rest, as though he needed it. Which he decidedly did not, considering he fell asleep almost as soon as they’d left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, cowboy boots, really not the best for walking long distances in. They don't have any grip, like, at all. And just aren't really made for walking a lot of area at once. John and Arthur are both gonna need a new pair of boots, the ones they had for this trip are... heheh... on their last legs. Hence why the boys' feet are all mangled.
> 
> On the bright side, at least they were too busy trying to not die for Arthur to be sad about Mary. 
> 
> Originally, I planned for the trek home to take six days, but then I figured that would probably slow the plot down. Pacing was a major struggle for this subplot, but you cowbros seemed to have enjoyed it, regardless. 
> 
> Thanks, partners, for reading, I love y'all so much! Stay safe and healthy <3


	38. Home, Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys tell their tale | Dutch and Hosea embarrass Arthur | John has a bad dream | Arthur gets a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the first chapter of this fic on the tenth of October, 2019. So, this fic is a year old now! And I'm only thirty-eight chapters in, out of who knows how many? ... :') save me

The world filtered in slowly as John blinked his eyes open. He could smell a campfire nearby and hear the quiet sound of familiar voices. He sat up where he’d been lying down, noticing he was on a cot. 

John looked around as the haze of grogginess cleared, finding familiar tents set up around him, including Arthur’s, less than ten feet away. Arthur was fast asleep, a blanket pulled up around him. John’d been tucked in, as well, and pushed the covers off of him as reality began to sink in. 

_ Home. _ Arthur had gotten them the rest of the way there, safe and sound. If his feet weren’t so sore still, John could have leaped for joy. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and felt even happier when there was a sting.

He was basking in the sweet relief of relative safety and familiarity when Dutch, over by the fire, noticed he was up, quickly making his way over with long strides and a wide grin. “John, my boy, glad to see you awake!”

“Glad to be awake,” John replied with a smile of his own. His voice was a little scratchy and dry, he was hungry, his feet hurt, but he and Arthur were alive, and they were home. 

Upon Dutch’s booming, cheerful greeting, everyone else around the fire turned their head, immediately standing to their feet and walking over to him, as well. “How are you, John?” Hosea asked. 

John shrugged. “I’m alive, so better than I’d hoped yesterday.”

“Are you hungry, John?” Miss Grimshaw asked, and John nodded quickly. “Let me go fix you somethin’ to eat, then.” She said sweetly before turning and heading back to the fire.

Bessie made her way over to John’s side and leaned down, cupping his face in her hands before planting a kiss on his forehead. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” She asked.

“I’m okay,” John answered quietly. It was still a matter of some debate whether or not he actually was alright, but like he’d told Hosea; he and Arthur were alive, and even as recently as before he passed out on Arthur’s shoulder, he hadn’t thought that’d be the case. “Just real glad to be home.”

“Arthur told us a bit about your journey,” Hosea said, crossing his arms as he looked up. “We were gonna wake you boys in the next hour or so. It’ll be dinner time soon.”

Looking around, John noticed from the dimming golden light around them that it was nearing evening time. The sun would probably set within the next hour and a half. “When did Arthur get us back?” He asked, curious.

“Early morning,” Dutch answered. “Probably around six-thirty, seven.”

“He told us you boys walked over twenty miles to get back here?” Annabelle asked. 

John nodded. It hadn’t been as many when he’d passed out, but that sounded about right. And, anyway, even the seventeen, eighteen miles John had walked had been absolute torture. He’d never had to walk so far in his entire life. “Bet we’re both gonna need a new pair of boots after all that.” He only half-joked.

“Sounds like you two had a Hell of a time,” Annabelle said, with no small amount of sympathy in her voice. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” John replied. 

After having some food and water, John felt a hundred times better than he had before. He was given a pair of clean socks to put on and noticed his feet didn’t hurt as much before he’d slept. Dutch told John that was because of an herbal salve he’d worked up. Whatever the Hell a salve was, John was thankful that it’d made the pain in his feet subside. He pulled on the socks, along with his beat-up boots, then sat over by the fire with everyone else. 

Arthur woke not long afterward, and Miss Grimshaw fretted over him, before he joined them by the fire, as well. “Howdy, folks.” He greeted as he sat next to John. He looked a lot better than he had the past few days, John noted. 

“Good evening, son.” Hosea greeted chipperly, passing a cup of coffee Arthur’s way. Arthur tipped his head in thanks before sipping it. “How’d you sleep?”

Arthur huffed a chuckle. “Better than the past three days, that’s for sure.”

“Hosea’s barely slept a wink since you two disappeared,” Dutch said, cigar in hand. Hosea waved a hand dismissively. 

John noticed the yawn Hosea tried to hide with his coffee cup. “I’ll be fine. You worry too much.” 

Dutch rolled his eyes with a fond smile before taking a pull off his cigar. Then, he said, “Now that you boys are awake, how’s about you tell us what happened?”

Arthur jabbed a thumb in John’s direction. “This fool here ran his big mouth to a couple of other local degenerates.”

“They started it!” John insisted.

Arthur scratched at his beard. “Well, no, they didn’t, really; you did. Guess the bastards deserved it, though.”

“They did,” John said, slumping. He already partially blamed himself for what happened but didn’t wanna dwell on it, and Arthur wasn’t doing that fact any favors. 

“Anyway, they shot the horses, and John and I went tumbling out of the wagon.”

“Then, they knocked us out and took us twenty miles that way.” John continued, pointing in the direction he and Arthur came from. 

Everyone listened intently with grim expressions as Arthur went on. “We woke up in some house. John was tied to a chair, I was bound to a pipe on the wall.”

John’s face scrunched as he recalled Grant, the man who had tortured them. “Some nasty lookin’ feller came in and started asking us a bunch of questions, like who we were and where our gang was. I told him we weren’t gonna tell him nothin’. And that we ain’t a gang. We’re a family. He tried saying there ain’t a difference.”

“He actually thought we was gonna tell him, too, but we didn’t, and he wasn’t particularly happy about that. Started beating me up, and then when John decided to spit profane words at him, that I won’t repeat, the bastard turned on him.”

Hosea gestured at John’s face. “Guess that explains all the bruising.”

“Bastard tenderized my face,” John muttered, remembering how raw his flesh felt the first day or two afterward. Still hurt a little, though not nearly as much. He’d recover quickly. John hated how small he sounded as he said, “Arthur broke the pipe off the wall and smashed his head in.” 

Everyone’s eyebrows raised, and wide eyes all shifted to Arthur, who turned his head away to avoid the attention. “Didn’t have much choice. Was either him or us.”

John knew that well enough, but the sight was still playing in his head on a loop. The gruesome scene had yet to become the subject of his nightmares, but every sleep since that night was far too deep from exhaustion—the kind of sleep where no dreams came at all. 

John and Arthur told of the rest of their journey. Narrowly escaping with their lives from the house into the rain, where Arthur blew up the crate of dynamite, the homestead engulfing in flames, and the last three men there dying in an agonizing inferno. How the rest of the large group had thundered toward them on their steeds, and they fled into the forest. Running through the dark in the rain, being chased deep into the woods. Scrambling up trees to hide, the men just beneath them with lanterns, searching. Eventually giving up, finally leaving them.

The brothers told of sheltering in the small cave that first night, while John patched the bullet wound on Arthur’s arm. They told everyone about how they found water, and John using the North Star to guide them home. The agonizing walk through a few very long nights, filled with hunger, dehydration, sore feet, and uncertainty. Hosea, Bessie, Dutch, Susan, and Annabelle all listened with rapt attention and concerned faces. 

When they got to the part where Arthur started carrying him, John stopped contributing to the retelling as Arthur took over. “So, I slung him up over my shoulder, and I kept us moving. Felt like Hell, but we didn’t have much of a choice. Kept walkin’ til I finally got us back, and, well,” Arthur gestured vaguely, “here we are.”

Dutch leaned back where he sat, no longer as on edge now that the recounting of their Hell was over. “Sounds like you boys been through it. If we’d’ve known you two were that far away, maybe we’d have found you.”

“Dutch and I spent three days searching the woods near where we lost the trail when it started raining,” Hosea said. “Apparently, it didn’t do much good.” He added with a frown.

“You couldn’t have known,” John said sincerely. “At least you looked, at all.”

“How could we not?” Dutch asked. “We’re a family. That means no one gets left behind.” 

“Exactly.” Hosea chipped in simply. 

It was soon time for dinner, and though both brothers had been fed when they woke up, Arthur and John still scarfed down another plate of food. The adults all decided it best to celebrate with a drink. Even Bessie had a beer in hand as she and Hosea sat hip to hip with each other. Annabelle and Dutch were doing much the same right across from them. Susan was on a crate between the couples, her hair down instead of the bun she usually wore. 

They all sang songs, sometimes pausing before muttering more tasteful versions of lyrics under their breath. In between, Hosea and Dutch would usually start-up on the mile-long yarns they always loved to spin. Although, John noticed that when the men were drunk, they’d mostly just tell embarrassing stories about Arthur. 

“Hey, Hosea, you remember when we taught Arthur how to tame wild horses?”

“God, no, not _ this. _” Arthur protested, taking a long swig of his drink and sighing when Hosea replied,

“Oh, but of course, I remember!” The older man laughed. “It was only about four years ago.”

Dutch had an amused glint in his eye as he said, “We was makin’ our way through Indiana that year. Arthur was, what, twenty?”

“Nineteen.” Arthur corrected.

“Semantics.” Dutch slurred, waving a dismissive hand. Then, he chuckled a bit more as he continued, “He walked right up to that mare, had her all calmed down and everything, and then someone fired a gun nearby, the horse spooked, and she threw Arthur at least five feet away!”

Everyone but Arthur laughed, John included. “Dunno why y’all find that so amusing.” Arthur deadpanned as he finished off the rest of his drink. “What if I’d busted my head on a rock and bled out?”

“You didn’t,” Dutch replied easily with a loopy grin. “That’s why it’s allowed to be funny.”

“You didn’t die from that bullet you took three years ago, and that ain’t funny,” Arthur muttered, though no one but John seemed to have heard him. 

“Remember when he obliterated that rabbit with a shotgun when the three of us went hunting about five years ago?” Hosea asked Dutch, hand on his shoulder. Arthur sighed and grabbed another beer, probably trying to deal with the fact that the only thing Dutch and Hosea wanted when they were this drunk was to mortify him to death. Then again, they seemed determined to embarrass him when sober, too.

“I _ thought _ it was a varmint rifle.” Arthur defended.

“I ain’t never seen a varmint rifle with a double-barrel, son,” Dutch replied. 

Arthur bristled a little. “Well, why’d you fools pack a double-barrel shotgun to go hunt rabbits, anyway?”

The night continued like that, with Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur reminiscing of days past. According to Hosea, Dutch, Bessie, and Miss Grimshaw, Arthur had been quite a handful when he was younger. Arthur denied it fervently, claiming innocence the entire time. Far as he seemed concerned, they were all playing up his unruliness as a teen. Hosea rebutted that by telling John how Arthur had acquired Copper, sneaking the pup in his satchel, then giving them lip when they tried to tell him keeping a dog wasn’t a very good idea. Obviously, Arthur had gotten what he wanted. And Copper had been just as, if not more of a hassle, constantly chewing up everyone’s boots, chasing and barking at smaller critters.

John was more than entertained, hearing the antics Arthur got into when he was younger. Arthur seemed equal parts amused and annoyed about the tales being told. By the end of the night, he still wouldn’t admit that he’d been a piece of work, though Hosea and Dutch both tried their best to convince him that he had been. 

It wasn’t too long, though, before everyone was ready for bed. Arthur and John were both still pretty exhausted from their long walk, Hosea hadn’t slept in days, and Dutch, Bessie, and Miss Grimshaw hadn’t had much rest, either. After the drinks went away, everyone retired to their tents, snuffed lanterns, leaving only the glow of the moon and the campfire nearby to light camp in the dark night. John climbed into his cot and pulled the blanket up over himself tight, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

But, of course, his rest was not allowed to be undisturbed. Instead of the dreamless slumber he’d been greeted to the past few days, John was met with a nightmare. It had nothing to do with his own wellbeing, nor the things he had witnessed at the house; it was far worse than anything like that.

_ He and Arthur had run through the dark woods, much like that night they fled for their lives from the other outlaws. There just seemed to be more and more forest ahead with no end, pitch blackness surrounding them. The men on horses grew ever closer, spitting angry curses. Horse hooves galloping fast towards them, as though the darkness did nothing to slow or detour their pursuers. _

_ Like that horrible night, Arthur tripped over a tree root and went tumbling to the ground. As he had before, John turned around to help him up, the horses only growing closer. “Come on, brother, we have to run!” _

_ As soon as John helped Arthur to his feet, the forest’s darkness gave way under the bright glare of lanterns as they were surrounded by angry riders with shadowy faces. They exclaimed victoriously amongst one another as they surrounded Arthur and John, giant toothy grins standing stark in the dim light. _

_ Arthur pulled John close, arms wrapped around him in an attempt to shield him as one of the riders drew their gun. He heard a hammer click, and then the _ ** _BANG_ ** _ of a shot go off- _

John woke in a cold sweat as the sight of Arthur’s head blowing off played in his head, the false gunfire making his ears ring. His heart was in his throat, and his lungs worked overtime as he looked to Arthur’s tent. He could just barely see Arthur in his cot, chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. _ Stupid fucking nightmares, _ John thought as he willed himself to calm down, a scowl on his face. Gradually, his breathing and heart rate settled, even as the fear remained. 

Still exhausted, John didn’t have much choice but to lay back down and wait for sleep to come to him again.

~~~~~~~~

John ran a brush through Boy’s coat as the pony munched on some grass. Beside them, Boadicea was eating some hay while April and Lady fought over the water trough. 

Everyone was up and about, despite it being very early in the morning. Susan, Bessie, and Annabelle were chatting while mending clothes and washing dishes. Dutch was sitting at their only table, looking over a map. John could hear the rhythmic sound of an ax chopping through logs as Arthur worked on cutting some firewood. Hosea had left about an hour ago to check the mail, and Uncle was still nowhere to be found, likely in Chicago. Uncle didn’t seem to stay in camp with them a whole lot, too busy despoiling himself in the city. Even when he did come back for a few days at a time, he never stopped in his seemingly life-long quest to not be sober. 

Boy raised his head, apparently satisfied with the amount of grass he’d eaten. The pony bumped his snout into John’s chest with a huff. “What?” John asked him, amused. “I ain’t got any treats. Talk to Arthur. He carries peppermints in his pockets all the time.” Boy didn’t respond, obviously, just stared at John in that blank way horses and ponies always did. 

John was working on his reading, sitting at the table with Dutch when Hosea rode into camp on Onyx. The eldest outlaw untacked the steed and left him to graze before joining them. “What you lookin’ at, there, brother?” Hosea asked Dutch with a smile as he stopped just behind him. 

Dutch looked back at Hosea with a warm grin of his own as he replied, “You know, Hosea, I think it’s time for a bit of a change of scenery, don’t you?”

Dutch kept his eyes on Hosea, and the other way around, as Hosea took a seat at the table across from him. “Not so sure I know exactly what you mean. Enlighten me.”

“I feel being this far North is hindering us.” Dutch clarified.

Hosea still only looked more confused at that, though. “So, what, you wanna go South?”

“God, no,” Dutch answered with a chuckle. “I was thinkin’, we should start heading West.”

“Into the desert?”

“Precisely.”

Hosea made a face that made his uncertainty about that idea loud and clear. “I don’t know, Dutch.” He said, skepticism in his tone. “It’s real harsh livin’ conditions out there.” He gestured to John as he continued with, “I don’t think the boy is ready for that kind of adversity, and Arthur turns into a miserable sod when it’s hot out.”

Dutch let out a long sigh. “I’m bored of nothing but forests and plains, Hosea. And cities, don’t even get me _ started _ on cities.” Dutch’s face scrunched up in disgust, likely at the thought of how close they were to however many settlements. “Out West, the land is barely touched by man.”

Hosea crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “So, how exactly are we supposed to prosper out there if it’s hardly populated? We’re thieves. We need people around, and plenty of them, to earn anything.”

Dutch sank in on himself a bit more as he folded his map back up. “You never like any of my ideas anymore.” He muttered. “Do you think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”

“You ain’t an idiot, friend, just an idealist,” Hosea replied patiently. “A mindset which, unfortunately, doesn’t do much good in an environment like that.”

Dutch mumbled, “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” As he put his map back in his satchel. “How’d checking the mail go?”

“Only one letter,” Hosea answered.

“Who for?” John asked curiously. None of them got mail very frequently, given the only people any of them talked to were the ones in their group. Ain’t much point in sending letters to people you live with. 

Hosea looked over to where Arthur was helping Susan wash dishes, lowered his voice as he replied, “It’s for Arthur, from Mary.”

“Ugh.” Dutch groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ain’t she ruined his life enough already?”

“Quit it with that.” Hosea chided him. 

“_ Why _ are you defending her?” Dutch asked, his expression only growing more agitated. “She broke our boy’s heart.”

“I don’t think she intended to,” Hosea said. 

“She still did,” Dutch argued back, crossing his arms as his scowl deepened. “Susan said she never trusted her, and she’s an excellent judge of character. I feel it’s far more likely that woman always meant harm to him than for the whole ordeal to have been an accident.”

Hosea sighed as he stood from his seat. “I’m done with this conversation.” He said, then walked off in Arthur’s direction. John shoved the book he’d been reading in his satchel before following him. 

Arthur was sitting on his cot, scrawling something in his journal when they reached him. As Hosea and John stopped in front of him, Arthur’s attention piqued. He shut his journal close and slipped it into his satchel. “Hey, Hosea, John.”

“Arthur.” Hosea greeted with a smile, pulling the letter out of his bag. “Got a letter here for you.”

Arthur glanced down at it, trying to hide the shocked look on his face when he read who it was from. He succeeded, but not by much. John certainly didn’t miss the way Arthur’s eyes lit up, and he was sure Hosea hadn’t, either. The expression only lasted all of two seconds before Arthur frowned a bit, though he was a little bit more successful in hiding that. Arthur looked back up at Hosea and smiled a bit as he said, “Thanks, ‘Sea.”

Hosea tipped his hat and said, “No problem, son.” Then, he left, off to attend to his own matters. 

John rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment as Arthur sat there looking at the letter in his hand as though it had personally vexed him. “You gonna open that, or…?”

Arthur glanced up at him with a bit of a scowl. He mocked John’s tone of voice as he responded with, “Are you physically capable of minding your own damn business, or…?”

John sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Be like that, then.” He wandered off, leaving Arthur be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the note before this, I am on hiatus. The only reason I'm uploading this chapter right now is that it was already mostly done when I made the decision to take a break. After this, there won't be another chapter until I am off of hiatus. Thank all of you who left comments on the author's note, giving me support. It means more to me than words can describe knowing that a lot of you will still be around when I come back. 
> 
> Originally, I had wanted to write this chapter from a different perspective, one outside of the gang, but the more I asked my friends and family about the idea, the more they expressed to me that maybe it wasn't the best idea.
> 
> So, just so that y'all aren't dying of curiosity, I'll go ahead and tell you that the chapter I had in mind was to be from the point of view of one Mary Gillis.
> 
> I obviously ended up deciding against this, as not very many people, myself included, particularly like Mary. I don't really HATE her, per-se, I've just got very mixed feelings. I feel like I don't have enough information to form an opinion on her character. She doesn't really get a lot of screen time. The most I've done with Mary so far is everything you've read so far in this fic, along with a one-shot I wrote a few months back where she just kind of worked herself into the manuscript without much thought. And even then, she played such a small part in the finished product. 
> 
> I decided, instead, to write from John's POV since I feel I've got a pretty good handle on who he is as a person. I've now watched a playthrough of the first Red Dead Redemption game, along with a good bit of the Undead Nightmare DLC ("YoU EaT bAbIeS!" is the funniest thing I think I've ever heard a video game character say, 10/10). I watched a playthrough instead of playing it myself because, unfortunately, I do not have a PlayStation 3 :(
> 
> But, yknow, my dad owns a PS4, so I can play all the RDR2 my heart desires (unless he's playing Assassin's Creed, which he has been, for a month straight, and I fear for his health at this point because he is much more concerned with slaying Medusa than he is with like, eating and going to the bathroom).
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter. Stay safe and healthy, cowbros <3


	39. Nobody Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes to Chicago to see Mary | Hopes are dashed | Arthur meets someone new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back!  
So, as it turns out, my inspiration came back just a few days after I posted that author's note. Which, honestly makes me feel kinda silly. It took a month of realizing that I Just Wasn't Feeling It for me to post that note, only to be back at it like, two weeks later.  
I told y'all I wouldn't be quitting on this fic though, and I intend to keep on making sure that I never break that promise. The only thing that could stand between me and the completion of this fic is death! Given that I rarely leave my bed these days, death probably isn't within my near future. Unless you can die from slow download times, because I finally bought RDR2 for myself on my laptop, and my internet is so slow that Steam says it's gonna take ten days to download... I've done nothing but write fic, watch gameplay of the original RDR, and listen to the RDR2 soundtrack since I bought it yesterday... Pray for me, cowbros.  
With all of that said, I don't know if inspiration will stay with me, or if it'll decide to fuck off again within the next few days. I am gonna try a little harder, though, to push myself, and stop playing so much Sims.  
Regardless, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. Please leave a comment if you do, and a kudos if you haven't already, as those kinds of things really do make a world of difference. Y'all's nice words really push me to keep working on this story.  
Please enjoy! ^-^

As John ran off, Arthur stared down at the letter in his hands. His heart pounded hard in his chest as he broke the wax seal. Arthur hadn’t thought much about Mary in the past few days. He’d been too busy not dying, or yesterday, settling back into camp. He wondered as he slowly pulled the letter out of the envelope what she wanted. Arthur unfolded it carefully and began reading. 

_ Dear Arthur, _

_ It has been quite a while since we last spoke. I hate that things had to come to an end like that, though I can’t think of any way to apologize for it, nor any other way it could have gone, and that may just be my biggest regret. I have thought of you often since the last time we saw each other. I told you I needed time away from you, though I feel now, more than ever, I could stand to have your company.  _

_ The last week or so has been quite difficult for me, though I would rather tell you in person as to why that is. As I don’t leave the estate very often, I have few friends to turn to and a lot on my mind.  _

_ My father has not been around very often, and so, if you come to Gillis Manor, there’s a good chance he’ll never even know you were here. Please come and see me.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Mary _

Arthur must have reread that letter three more times before putting it back in the envelope, which he tucked away in his satchel. He sat there as an odd mixture of relief and uncertainty spiraled through him. Arthur had been convinced since that night they last saw each other that Mary wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again. He thought for certain he’d never hear from her, that she’d cut him out like a bad habit, and Arthur could only wonder why she hadn’t done so. 

She wanted to see him again, and he didn’t much understand that, either. Their relationship ended on such a sour note, and that was putting it lightly. Neither of them could change. Arthur couldn’t even begin to imagine any other way of being, and it seemed Mary felt the same way about her own life. Why was it she wanted to see him again? Did she want to try again? Or throw more salt in the wound?

Arthur had absolutely no clue. A very optimistic and hurting part of him hoped she  _ did _ want to get back together with him, that by some miracle, Mary would leave her life of luxury behind and join his. A realistic part of him that ached more told him that wasn’t the case, no matter how much he wished for it. He couldn’t allow himself to get his hopes too high, but that’s what happened, anyway, as he saddled up, riding towards Chicago.

** _~~~~~_ **

Arthur hadn’t missed the city even the smallest bit. The sights and smells were too much, along with the constant bustle of busy city folk attending their dull lives. He was sure he had a very discontent look on his face as he rode through. 

Arthur stopped first at a saloon and had a bath since he’d not had one since before he and John were kidnapped. Soaking in warm, bubbly water made him feel a little better, almost human again, as did changing into some more suitable clothes. He could only relax so much, though, knowing he was going to see Mary again after nearly three weeks apart. 

Should he tell her about what’d happened to him and John just a few days ago? Probably not. It wouldn’t help his case any, would likely just convince her even further that his way of living was wrong, and he was about done with all that. Wasn’t like he didn’t know; he was more than aware. Still, Arthur wanted nothing more than for Mary to have seen that she was wrong, to call their engagement back on, and a foolish part of him still thought that was exactly why she wanted to see him again after all these weeks apart. Mary could’ve very easily moved on from him entirely, never contacted him again, but she didn’t. The letter she sent Arthur had to be some kind of sign, right?

Arthur knew well and truly that he was forgettable, replaceable. There was no way she’d want him around anymore if she hadn’t changed her mind, right? She  _ had _ to want him back. Lord knows he certainly wanted her back.

Arthur had a pit feeling in his stomach as he navigated through the city towards her house. He didn’t know which part of himself he should listen to; the part of him that thought they might get back together or that she’d contacted him just to hurt him more. 

“Guess I’ll find out in a moment.” He muttered to himself as he slowed to a stop outside of Gillis Manor. Arthur hitched Boadicea across the street and began walking to the front door. As he stopped in front of it, hand raised to knock, Arthur hesitated, his heart pounding against his ribcage. 

Arthur took his hat off and rested it against his chest as he took a few steadying breaths.  _ Calm down, you fool. This is way smaller of a thing than you’re making it out to be. It’ll be fine. _

Calmed down as much as he was capable of, Arthur raised his hand again and rapped on the door a few times, stepping back. 

When the door swung open, it was not Mary who greeted him, but instead a hired hand. The maid looked at him with a confused look on her face. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m, um, here to see Miss Gillis?” Arthur replied though it sounded more like a question than a statement even to his ears. “She sent me a letter.” He continued on a little awkwardly, shuffling his feet as he stared at the ground. “Said she wanted to see me, so…”

The maid nodded a little. “I’ll go get her.” She said, then closed the door. Behind, Arthur could hear her say, “Miss Gillis? There’s a young man at the door for you.”

Arthur stood there on the doorstep with his heart in his throat, fingers clutching the hat on his chest tightly. The other hand balled into a tight fist at his side, nails digging into the skin. The word nervous would not have come even close, describing how he felt at that moment as he heard footsteps within the manor grow closer to the door. Then, the handle turned, and the door swung open. 

There stood Mary, just as beautiful as ever, and Arthur could already tell at that moment he would be just as tongue-tied as he always was around her. The pair of them locked eyes for the first time in three weeks, then stood there for a few seconds, both not knowing quite what to say. 

“Hello, Arthur.” Mary was the first to speak up, quietly greeting him as their eyes fell away from each other.

Arthur subtly cleared his throat before he replied, “Mary.”

“You came.” She said, sounding at least a little surprised.

“Of course,” Arthur told her. “I, uh, I got your letter.” He said, as though that wouldn’t have been obvious. 

Mary nodded a little, though she still averted her gaze. “My father isn’t home right now, hasn’t been for… a while.” She stepped to the side. “Would you like to come in?”

Arthur gave her a small nod, making sure to wipe his feet on the mat as soon as he got in. Mr. Gillis had been very adamant the first and only time Arthur had been allowed in that he didn’t want dirt and mud on the carpeting. Much as Arthur disliked him, Hosea and Dutch had always told him to never disrespect someone’s house rules when you were their guest. As soon as they were both inside, Mary shut the door behind them gently. 

The manor was quiet, with curtains drawn tightly closed everywhere Arthur looked. He followed Mary into the living room, and they sat down on opposite sides of the same couch. The dreary feel of everything struck Arthur as weird, but he didn’t comment on it, decided it best if Mary was the one taking the lead of the conversation. After a few moments of awkward silence, she asked him, “How have you been, Arthur?”

He shrugged. “Okay, I suppose.” He told her. “How have you been?”

Mary looked at the floor, her expression darkening. “Not very well, to be honest.” She answered quietly. “I told you, the last time we saw each other that my mother was ill?”

Arthur nodded. “You did.” He replied quietly, already knowing where this was headed. 

“Her condition was worse than we originally thought.” Mary continued, her spirits withering more and more as she did. “We had a doctor come in to check her, the night after that, and… finally got a diagnosis…”

Arthur fidgeted with his hands for a moment before asking her, “What… what was it…?”

Mary wiped some tears away from her eyes and sniffled. “Consumption.” She said, barely above a whisper. “She… was too far into the last stages of the disease for us to do anything for her. She passed... just two days after that.”

Arthur was speechless for a few seconds, not knowing what he could possibly say to even try and give her some solace or comfort. 

“I’m sorry, for makin’ you come all this way, just for this, but I…” Mary sniffled some more, wiping more tears from her eyes. She finally looked at him again as she said, “I just really needed someone to talk to, and… You were the only person I could think of.”

Arthur nodded a little in understanding as any hopes he’d had beforehand of them getting back together were crushed. And he felt like an absolute prick for that being the thing he was most sad about. Still, it pained him more to see her so miserable. “I’m… sorry to hear all that.” He finally said, out of lack of anything better. 

Mary blinked a few more tears from her eyes, her breath a little shaky as she tried to calm herself down. Her makeup was already running a little, and her face was a bit red. Arthur felt a little awkward, sitting there, not knowing what to do. The last time he’d tried helping someone through grief was when his own mother died, and obviously, that hadn’t ended very well for either him or his father. Arthur felt he’d never be able to say he’d moved on from his mother’s death, and Lyle had certainly never been able to, either. The only death Arthur’d had to deal with since then was Charlie’s, and though he’d been distraught over that, his mourning of the steed never reached quite the amount of misery his mother’s passing had caused.

He didn’t want to be too forward, but he didn’t want to just sit there like a useless sack of crap, either, so Arthur did the only thing he could think of doing at that moment. He pulled Mary into a hug, which she immediately returned, squeezing him tight as she rested her head on his shoulder, and cried. 

~~~~~

Arthur felt numb as he started riding back to camp that night. 

He didn’t end up staying at Gillis Manor for very long. Once she’d mostly stopped crying, they said very little more to each other before coming to the conclusion that he should probably leave before Mr. Gillis returned. Arthur left, and afterward, wandered the city a little aimlessly. It wasn’t until the sun was about to set that he finally decided he should probably get home, otherwise someone might start worrying about where he was. 

However, on his way back to camp, Arthur decided to go to the town nearest where they were set up and have a drink or two to drown his disappointment. So, he steered Boadicea onto a different path and soon found himself in a dimly lit saloon. Arthur ordered a drink then sat down at one of the tables, pulling out his journal, which he hadn’t written in for quite some time. He had drawn earlier today, but that was about it. It’d been so long that he even had to reread his last entry, just to have some kind of time frame for when the last time he’d written anything was. 

_ So, apparently, John can’t swim. The fool decided to climb the tallest tree in camp, got himself proper stuck. None of us could go up and rescue him because it wouldn’t have supported anyone other than the kid’s weight.  _

_ We tried getting him to climb down, and eventually, Dutch told him to jump, that one of us would catch him. Only, none of us caught him, and he fell into the river. Initially, I thought it was hilarious, but then I had to jump in and save him. _

_ Earlier today, I asked him why he hadn’t told us he couldn’t swim, and John told me he was scared of the water, though he didn’t explain why. I offered to teach him, and he said no. _

_ I don’t really understand John half the time, frankly. Whatever it is that’s got him so scared of water, I hope he eventually overcomes it. I won’t be around to save him forever.  _

With now knowing how long it had been since he’d written in his journal, Arthur pulled out his pencil and got to work on a new entry. 

_ Mary and I broke up.  _

_ It was probably a long time coming. I don’t know why I ever thought that she’d marry someone like me. We’ve always had arguments about the way I lead my life. About three weeks ago now, we had yet another disagreement, which led to our engagement being broken off. I was a mess for a week or more, and though I’m a bit better now, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still sting. I’ve been mostly avoiding my journal since then. There’s a lot of drawings of her in here and entries of days now long past that I’ll never get back.  _

_ A lot has happened in the past three weeks since then. About four or five days ago, John and I were sent to town to buy some supplies, and on our way there, we were knocked out and taken a little over twenty miles away by some thugs. By some miracle, we were able to get away, though not before I traumatized John even further, as he had to watch me bash our main captor’s head in and snap another feller’s neck. _

_ We just barely escaped from the house we were being held in, and there were only a few men left as John and I got out. At some point, my arm got grazed with a bullet. I threw a fire bottle at a crate of dynamite, and the men, along with the house, burst into flames, despite the fact it was raining. It was a big group, though, and as John and I thought that we might finally be safe, we heard the rest of them coming toward us on horseback. John and I ran into the woods in the dark and rain. We had to hide in the trees to get the rest of the group to eventually give up. _

_ Once we were sure the coast was clear, John and I found shelter in a small cave. He patched up my arm, and the next night, we began our long trek home. John benefited better from Hosea’s wayfinding lessons than I ever had, so he guided us home using the sky as a map.  _

_ It took a little over two nights for us to finally get back to camp, thankfully alive. John was in a state for most of our walk, and I’m still feeling it a bit myself. I figure neither of us has really ever had to walk that far in our entire lives. Along with the lack of water and food, the trip really screwed us up. I ended up carrying John for the last few miles because he really just couldn’t walk any further. We both had busted up feet by the time we got back.  _

_ Earlier today, Hosea checked the mail, and it turns out Mary wrote me a letter. In it, she asked me to come to see her. Foolishly, I had believed she wanted to get back together. That wasn’t the case.  _

_ When we broke up, she told me one of the reasons she couldn’t go run off with a bunch of outlaws was because her mother was ill. Her brother would need her around. While I understand that entirely and don’t fault her for making the decision she did, I’m still deeply hurt over how things ended.  _

_ The reason she wanted to see me again was that she needed a friend. Her mother passed a few days after we broke up, and Mary hasn’t had anyone to confide in the entire time.  _

_ I don’t really know what to feel right now. I should feel worse over her losing her mother. I know what that’s like. Somehow, though, my reaction to realizing Mary only wanted my company as a friend makes me feel like an absolute piece of shit. There she was, with her world still crumbling down around her, and I was more worried about whether or not she still wanted to wed me.  _

_ And now I’m sat in a loud saloon with a drink because I feel sorry for myself when I probably shouldn’t. It ain’t like she didn’t have a good reason to break off our engagement. Her main reason was her loyalty to her family, and I can’t fault her for that because that’s precisely why I can’t change, either. Hell, I’m lucky she even wanted to talk to me at all. We met because I bumped into her, and she fell to the ground, so it’s really a miracle we ever even became friends in the first place, much less got together. Any other person would have been angry and walked off, but she gave me a chance for some reason or another. _

_ A chance that I completely screwed up. _

_ All I really know is, I got my hopes too high, and now I’m right back where I was three weeks ago. Depressed over a relationship that was doomed from the start. Dutch was right, all those times he told me it’d never work out. I don’t know why I ever expected any different. _

The entry was a pretty long one, taking up five pages in his journal. With those events written down, Arthur closed his journal with a sigh, picking up his glass and taking a few sips. The whiskey slid down his throat and burned as it did, but Arthur couldn’t find it in him to pay it much mind. 

He got up a few times only to go up to the bar and get a refill before he’d make his way over to the small table he’d been at in the back of the room. Everyone around him seemed pretty happy, drinking, laughing, talking over each other, and the lively music coming from the piano. He must have looked so awkward, lurking in the back of the room all by himself, but Arthur didn’t really care. 

Though it seemed he wasn’t allowed to keep wallowing in peace, since a few minutes after he got his fourth glass of whiskey, a woman came over, leaning on the table with a smile on her face. “Are you alright over here, sir?”

Arthur gave her a shrug, taking another few swigs from his glass before he told her, “Not really.” He might as well be honest, he figured, since she looked like she’d be able to see right through any lie he could have told her.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She said and sounded genuine as she did. “I’m working right now, but my shift ends in a few minutes. Would you like someone to talk to?”

Arthur gave her a bit of a confused look, probably glazed over by the liquor, making him appear even more stumped, he was sure. “I guess I don’t mind either way.” He eventually replied. 

With that, the young lady told Arthur that she would be back in a few minutes. True to her word, a few minutes later, the woman came over, sitting across from him. “Hello, again.” She greeted him cheerfully. 

“Hello.” He replied curtly. 

“I know it ain’t my business, sir, but what is it that’s got you mopin’ in the corner like this?” 

Arthur gave her another shrug. “It’s pretty stupid.”

“I can assure you, whatever it is, I’ve heard worse.” She said to him with a coy smile, which told Arthur she was only half-joking. 

Arthur thought of all the saloons he’d ever sat in, listening in on folks’ conversations from the back, waiting for some useable information. More often than not, most of what he heard was pretty petty drama; people coming in and getting soaked to forget their troubles, which, in the grand scheme of things, weren’t all that big a deal in the first place. He supposed he was doing the same thing, and he felt so incredibly foolish for being this broken up over a relationship that was seemingly doomed from the start.

But he also couldn’t deny the fact that it sucked, whether it was his fault for ever having tried or not. Regardless of how foolish his hopes of getting wed to Mary were, he was still miserable. And, sat across from him was someone who didn’t know what he was and wanted to know what was wrong. Even if this woman ended up thinking that his problem was silly, Arthur could just leave and never see her again.

With his mind made up, Arthur took the last few gulps of whiskey in his glass to steel his nerves before he finally told her, “My fiance broke off our engagement a few weeks ago.”

The young woman’s eyes grew a little sadder as she said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr…?”

“Arthur.” He introduced himself, not forgetting his manners as he stuck his hand out for her to shake. “Arthur Morgan.”

As she shook his hand, the young lady smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Arthur. My name is Eliza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so fun fact: Consumption is what they called tuberculosis throughout most of the nineteenth century. The name tuberculosis was coined in 1834 by a man named Johann Schonlein. Though, the term didn't become popular until some time in the 1900s. Tuberculosis is thought to have been around for as much as three million years, and even now, people are still dying from it every day.

**Author's Note:**

> I've done countless hours of research for this fic, both real world history and the game's history, so kudos and comments are really greatly appreciated. ^_^ Thanks for reading, stay tuned for more!


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